Conviction
by TheHinkyPanda
Summary: AU! Sam Winchester is a lawyer and needs to fill a pro bono quota for his firm. When Sheriff Mills calls him about Gadreel Sullivan, an ex-con who has just attacked a corrections officer, Sam takes the case. But the more he digs into Gad's case, the more he finds it is far from simple, especially when he starts to fall for his client. Sadreel, Destiel
1. Chapter 1

**Conviction**

**Chapter One: Relocation**

_A man cannot always be estimated by what he does. He may keep the law, and yet be worthless. He may break the law, and yet be fine. He may be bad, without ever doing anything bad. He may commit a sin against society, and yet realise through that sin his true perfection." _

― _Oscar Wilde, Der Sozialismus und die Seele des Menschen_

There is still blood on his knuckles.

He tries to wipe it off on his jeans but it's dried and won't be moved. He tries to focus on rust-red smears over the dips and valleys of his hand instead of on the bars in front of him. He listens to the sound of a radio playing out in the sheriff's office instead of the retching of the drunk man that's draped over the toilet in the cell. He tries to focus on anything and everything except for the panic that is crawling up his spine.

He had thought he wouldn't see the inside of a jail cell again. He didn't deserve it the first time he found himself behind bars. Despite the tell-tale blood on his hands, he didn't deserve this imprisonment either. However, when the word of an ex-con goes up against an off duty corrections officer, it doesn't take a genius to know who the police are going to side with.

"Sullivan!"

His head snaps up at the sound of his last name and he stands slowly. "Yes, Ma'am?"

The sheriff, a woman with the name "Mills" embroidered on her uniform comes to the door. She gives him a small, half smile. "You'll fare better if you drop the ma'am."

He can't tell if she's teasing him or serious. In the situation he finds himself, he opts for the latter. "Yes, Sheriff."

She shakes her head. "You're lawyer is here."

"I didn't call for one."

"I know." She opens the cell door. "I did."

Confusion keeps him rooted to the spot. Why would she do such a thing? He had no money to pay for a lawyer. He's surprised when she grabs the sleeve of his sweatshirt and tugs him forward and through the door before locking it once more. He follows her on autopilot to her office but his mind is racing.

He has only been out of jail for two months. His bank account has barely $500 in it. He may not even have a job at The Roadhouse bar after this. Ellen Harvelle didn't strike him as a very forgiving woman and she was quite clear when she hired him if he got into trouble, he could find another job elsewhere.

When they reach her office, there's already a man sitting in there. He must be the lawyer though he's not dressed like any lawyer Gad has seen. His hair is long, down to his chin and he's dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans. He does have a briefcase and legal pad, the only two things that are remotely lawyerly about him. Even dressed as casual as this, he's still not sure how he's going to afford a lawyer.

Sheriff Mills shuts the door behind him and motions to the chair next to the long haired lawyer. "Sam Winchester, meet your new client, Gadreel Sullivan."

Gad takes the extended hand and sinks in to the chair. "I can't pay you."

"Pro bono, no worries. I have a quota to fill for the year."

Gad looks over at the Sheriff who is leaning back in her chair with a small smile on her lips. "Sam's a friend of mine. He'll do right by your case."

"I don't understand..."

Sheriff Mills' smile disappears completely and she turned to Sam. "The guy Mr. Sullivan supposedly 'assaulted' is a corrections officer over at the prison. James Thaddeus. He's a grade A douchebag."

Gad sees Sam's eyes slide down to his still bloodied knuckles with a frown and he wishes he had thought to step over the drunk and at least wash his hands.

Sam is writing things down in short hand on the yellow legal pad. "Most CO's are douches. What's up with this one in particular?"

"Thaddeus pushes limits. He's gone over the line before and some of my guys in here cover for him. Needless to say, they find themselves reassigned if I find out about it. No one has put this asshole in his place and it's about time someone did."

"So what happened tonight?"

Gad looks to the Sheriff thinking she'll tell the events but instead she nods to him. Honestly, he doesn't expect much. No one listened to him the first time he was sent to jail. But he draws a breath and organizes his thoughts before speaking.

"I work over at the Roadhouse for Ellen Harvelle. I was closing down the bar for her. When I took the trash out to the dumpster, I heard a couple of voices. They were arguing, a man and a woman. I started to go back inside when I heard the woman say 'stop it' and then 'let me go.' I went to investigate."

Sam nods and continues to write. "And then what?"

It still angers him, even just remembering the scene he stumbled on in the ally behind the bar. It takes a couple of measured breaths and focused thought to unclench his hands. "He had her against the wall. Leaning against her and she just kept asking him to stop."

Sam looks up from his writing. "And?"

Gad shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "And I stopped him."

Sam frowns and looks over at the Sheriff. "Jody, you got some details for me?"

"I'll email you the police report tomorrow when it's done." She pulls out her own little notebook and flips it open. "When I arrived on the scene, Thaddeus had a black eye, broken nose and was taken to the hospital to check for a concussion. Mr. Sullivan apparently put a real beat down on the guy but he was very cooperative and docile with me and my guys. Not even an angry word from him towards us."

"And the girl?"

"Can't find her." Sheriff Mills closes her notebook and drops it on her desk. "She called 911 but then split."

Sam turns to Gad. "Did you get a good look at her?"

"Streetlamp was out. I didn't see either one of them very well."

"Okay," Sam dropped the legal pad into his briefcase and stood up. "Email me the report when you have it. I'll try to track down the girl."

The Sheriff clears her throat and Sam pauses in the open doorway.

"What?"

"I can't just release him back into the public. Thaddeus is going to file charges of assault but I would like to show the courts that he can behave himself before the charges come rolling in."

"Jodi-"

"Sam. You want to pay his bail or take him in? If you take him in there's a chance you can skip the pesky bail bondsman. Sullivan doesn't have money to pay for his own bail, no family or friends in town. And you know what it's like trying to deal with Crowley on a good day."

Sam frowns but his shoulders dip in defeat. "Fine. But if he kills me in my sleep, I'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

* * *

Sam Winchester isn't sure what to make of his newest client. He's almost as tall as Sam, which is saying something. He's also practically a mute, speaking only when Sam asks him a direct question. He does manage to get directions out of him to where he's living so he can pack a bag for his indefinite stay at Sam's. It's a small one bedroom apartment in the worst part of town. Sam follows him inside, more out of safety than fear that Sullivan will run.

He's seen plenty of ex-con's apartments during his time as a lawyer. If you've seen one, you've seen them all. Filled with second hand furniture that's usually ducted taped together, empty take out containers covering any available flat surface and clothing draped all over the place while the air hangs heavy with cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. To say he is shocked when Sullivan opens the door to his place and almost formally invites Sam in is an understatement.

Sam can smell the Lysol from the hallway. When he steps inside, that's all he can smell. Sullivan turns the light on for him and Sam has to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. The furniture is still second hand but it's been either polished or repaired. There is nothing out of place in the small apartment. Books are lined up in straight rows and alphabetized on the bookcases. The remote to the television is placed purposefully straight on the coffee table. The man even has coasters. The kitchen is equally immaculate, not even a dirty dish in the sink.

"Holy shit, man." Sam makes a full circle around the room. "This is the cleanest apartment I've ever been in. You must be a parole officer's dream."

"Hardly," comes the response from the bedroom where Sam can hear him packing a bag. "I'll be happy to give you her name though so you can voice your opinion."

It's the first unsolicited sentence that Sullivan has spoken for the entire night and Sam's surprised to hear a bit of mirth in the man's tone. "I'll be sure to bring it up when I speak to her tomorrow. Who is it?"

"Naomi Angelson."

Shit. Sam knows of Naomi by reputation only and it is not a good one. Supposedly, she's a harsh task master when it comes to parolees. Rumor had it, she had a guys parole revoked for not sending his mother a birthday card. He had yet to corroborate that.

"What should I tell my landlord?"

Sam looks up from one of the battered bookcases to see Sullivan standing in the middle of the room with a canvas bag thrown over his shoulder and looking quite lost. That was quite a feat for a man his age and height. "I'll handle it. Don't worry."

"I'm ready, then."

"Don't you want to take any books with you? I hate to break it to you, there's not much to do at my place."

Sullivan looks at the bookcases and shakes his head. "I've read all of them."

"Seriously?"

"I'm afraid there's not much to do here either."

"Fair enough."

The drive to Sam's place is even quieter than the drive to Sullivan's. His client doesn't utter one word for the entire forty minutes. Sam glances over to see if he has fallen asleep but no, he is wide awake and taking in the surroundings as they pass. The sun starts to make an appearance and the sky lightens. They've left the inner city with its noise and claustrophobic streets and now are starting to see more land opening up into suburbs and then fields.

Sam lived in the city while he was completing his law degree but as soon as he had to chance to leave, he did. He finds he can breathe easier when the air isn't choked with noise and car exhaust. He expects Sullivan will find it relaxing as well but when he looks over at his passenger, he's surprised to see the other man is tense, his fingers absently fidgeting against his leg.

Sam clears his throat to break the silence. "So, where did you grow up?"

"Blackwell, Oklahoma."

Sam had heard of it, being a Kansas native. It's a small town, not a lot going on there, certainly not a big city. "So you're used to wide open spaces?"

Sullivan looks out the window with an apprehensive eye. "Not anymore."

The desire to pull over and read his client's file is almost overwhelming. What the hell happened to this guy? "Well, you'll have a chance to get used to them again. The property where I live has a main house and then a guest house. I live in the guest house which is where you'll be staying as well. There's a barn and cornfields. That's about it."

"The people who live in the main house, they're okay with your bringing convicted felons to their property?"

Sam took a deep breath. "My brother and his significant other live in the main house."

"And they are aware of what kind of house guests you have?"

"You're not the first one," Sam smiles.

Whenever he's having a bad day, Sam remembers defending a man named Gabriel who had been charged with criminal mischief. Sam did his best and eventually brought the punishment down to parole and community service but it wasn't helped by the havoc Gabe had wracked on the farm. The little trickster had actually turned all the clocks back on the farm, replaced calendars and even rigged up the radio to play Asia's "Heat of the Moment" to try to convince them all they were reliving the same day. Given Sam and his brother's jobs, their sleep deprivation played right into Gabe's hands. The little miserable punk. Last Sam heard, he was part of a think tank for a TV show that dealt with conmen pulling off heists.

It strikes Sam that Sullivan didn't exactly react to the term "significant other." He had brought home a couple clients before who had been less than kind to his brother and ended up leaving the farm with a black eye and without a lawyer. He's been more careful in the screening process but it had completely slipped his mind until he turned onto the gravel driveway.

"When I say significant other-"

"I understand the meaning," Sullivan interrupts him.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

Sullivan gives him a slightly confused look. "No."

"Good." Sam parks the car and shuts off the engine. "Good."

* * *

Gad can't believe his eyes when he sees the property. There are no neighbors. Just fields for as far as the eye can see. Corn has just started to push through the ground. He can see the main house, a typical Kansas farmhouse sitting back in a copse of trees. Sam parks his car in front of a small two level building with white siding. There is a barn further down the gravel drive and he can hear the sounds of horses and the smell of hay.

It's paradise.

And he can barely breathe because of it.

There's too much air, too much space. Not enough people. Closed in walls, noise and people so close together you can't help but be against each other is what he's familiar with. That was why he never returned home, never went back to the plains of Oklahoma. He's not sure how he's going to deal with staying on this farm with its fields and smells and sounds that aren't man made. He retrieves his bag from the backseat and throws it over his shoulder and has a stunning revelation as he takes in the surrounding area.

He's just not fit for freedom any longer.

"Hey, come on," Sam calls to him from the door. "We only have a couple hours to sleep."

"Before?" Gad asks as he steps onto the porch and over the threshold.

"Before the two yahoos on the hill wake up and let curiosity get the better of them. Don't be surprised if you wake up to a dark haired, blue eyed man cleaning the window of your bedroom."

"Your brother?"

"No, his boyfriend, Cas. Cas is a little...different. Good different but still different."

Gad nods though he has no idea what classifies as "different" to this man. A man who drove almost an hour and a half out to the police station to pick up a client and bring him to his home. The early morning sunlight casts everything in an pinkish-orange glow. It's no where near as neat as Gad was used to keeping things but there was a sense of comfortableness from the jackets tossed over the back of an armchair and various magazines strewn about on any available flat surface.

"I'm not exactly the immaculate housekeeper as you can see." There's a slight ruefulness to Sam's tone. "If it bothers you, feel free to straighten up. Just don't clean my office upstairs."

"Okay." He doesn't know if he should tell Sam the only reason he kept his apartment sterilized had more to do with not wanting to offend his parole officer and less to do with his own desires. He would much rather read a book than disinfect a kitchen. And given the front room of the small house, with its leather couch, wing back chairs and wood burning stove, the desire to sit and read is almost overwhelming despite the fatigue pulling at his eyes.

Sam shows him the small kitchen and where the basics are located before heading up the stairs. There's a bathroom in the center of the hallway with two bedrooms at the opposite end of the house. Apparently Sam's office is connected to his bedroom, both of which are understandably off limits.

"Here's a towel and washcloth if you want to grab a shower before sleeping, have at it. Just be warned, the hot water heater is kind of small. If you run it hot for more than ten minutes, you may as well use the garden hose. If you need anything, knock on the door," Sam points towards his bedroom. "If you go in there while I'm sleeping, I will shoot you."

Gad has a feeling that statement is not a jest. "I understand."

"Okay. See you in a few hours then."

Gad watches Sam retreat behind the closed door of the bedroom. The sudden feeling of being completely lost settles over him. There's no routine. There's no one telling him what to do next. There's no order and the panic starts to creep up his spine once more. He retreats into the bedroom at the other end of the hall and quietly shuts the door.

The room is larger than his own bedroom back in the city apartment. Everything is neutral in the room. The walls are a soft beige and that seems to have a calming effect on his heart rate. There's a dresser, rocking chair and bed with a blue and green quilt. He puts his bag on the floor underneath the window and sets the bath linens down on the chair. He quickly pays attention to which floorboards squeak under his weight as he moves around the room.

He sits on the bed and concentrates on his breathing. The anxiety starts to lessen and his heartbeat starts to slow. He watches the sunlight grow brighter as it crosses the oak floorboards: pink to orange to yellow. His shoulders are just starting to relax, fatigue finally catching up with him, when there's a sharp rap on the window. He looks over to see the top of a ladder and holds his breath as someone soon appears, peering cautiously into the room.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Cas Novak.

Gad didn't think that Sam had been literal when describing his brother's boyfriend. But yet, there he is, waving at him with a small smile. He makes a motion for Gad to open the window and Gad is on his feet, unlatching the window immediately.

"You must be Sam's new client," Cas greets him. His voice is gravelly but with a soft edge to it.

Gad nods. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"I'm Cas, in case Sam didn't tell you."

"Gadreel Sullivan. Most people call me Gad, though."

Cas' smile grows slightly but never quite becomes full fledged. "Gad, welcome. Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?"

He's about to shake his head when his stomach betrays him and growls loudly.

"That's settled then," Cas announces. "Come on up to the main house, I'll feed you. Sam, nicest guy you'll ever met but he doesn't always think about feeding his guests. I'll meet you out front."

Gad is about to decline the offer but Cas is already descending the ladder. Apparently he has no choice in the matter and it brings a sense of relief to him that he hasn't felt in awhile. Someone is telling him what to do and so he follows the order.


	2. Chapter 2

**Conviction**

**Chapter Two: Connection**

Sam doesn't go to sleep when he shuts the door to his bedroom. He stands and listens for movement. It only takes a few seconds before the guest room door shuts and then nothing. Sam scrubs his hands across his face. He's never had a client like this. Quiet, reserved, down right polite. For someone who had just sent a corrections officer to the hospital a bloody mess, he's shown zero signs of a temper. He is by far the best behaved con Sam has ever come across.

Which means something must have set him off.

He by passes the unmade bed and steps down into the storage space he has set up as his office. Pulling out the file that Jody gave him, he sits down in the well worn office chair and opens it. He knows he won't be able to sleep until he finds out just what landed the guy in jail the first time and what kind of record the guy has. Jody Mills is a tough sell so there must be something in there that made her want to help someone like Gad Sullivan.

Glancing through the preliminary reports and sentencing, Sam is left shaking his head and being reminded of why he's a lawyer in the first place. There are no details in the police report, no witnesses were interviewed. A car had been reported at a warehouse robbery and when it was tracked down, the goods were still in there. The car had been registered to Gadreel Sullivan. Despite his protests of innocence, he was still found guilty and sentenced for twenty years due to the monetary amount of goods stolen and his apparent lack of remorse for the actions.

The only crime Sam can come up with to charge Sullivan with is stubbornness. The man never took a plea, never negotiated, never admitted to committing the crime. Going through correspondence between the lawyers, if Sullivan had plead guilty to the theft he would have served eight years and walked free. But he refused to admit guilt when there was none. So the jury found him guilty and the judge sentenced him with the harshest penalty.

Sullivan had just turned seventeen the day he was sentenced.

Sam tosses the file onto his cluttered desk. He would have to sit down and get the details of Gad's first imprisonment from the man directly. Or at least attempt to. He has a feeling that getting information out of Gad is going to be an extremely exasperating endeavor.

He hears his house guest leave his room and head down the stairs. He glances out the small round window in the office space and sees Gad and Cas walking up to the main house. Maybe Cas might be able to get some information out of Gad that might help his case. Sam checks his watch and sets the alarm for thirty minutes. He'll read over the file one more time before heading up to the house for breakfast.

* * *

Cas, true to his word, leads Gad up to the main house. He follows Cas' lead and toes his shoes off in the small mudroom before padding into the kitchen. The house is standard mid-west farming community: nothing is ornate or frilly. It's all straight lines and efficiency. The countertops around the entire space, including the island, are wooden. The appliances, however, are top of the line, gleaming stainless steel and almost industrial looking.

"Dean likes to cook, me not so much," Cas offers. "I'm lucky I can figure out the coffee maker. What about you, Gad? You like to cook?"

It's not a simple question for him. True, he has managed to feed himself for the last two months but he has a feeling Cas was asking about more than his ability to make boxed macaroni and cheese and cereal. "I've…never really learned."

"Do you want to?"

He has to admit, seeing the copper and cast iron pots and pans hanging from the wrought iron rack over the island are tempting in a way he had never felt before in his life. His hands practically itch with the desire to touch them. He remembers the cooking shows that he had seen on the common room prison television. The ease that the chefs had moved with around the space, the deftness of their actions and then the mouth watering cuisine they were able to present at the end of the thirty minutes. He nods silently to answer Cas' question but he's not sure if it's really cooking he wants to learn or just the ability to be comfortable in a particular space and task.

"If you ask Dean after he's had his coffee, he'll probably be willing to teach you. He enjoys the process. I enjoy the result." Cas gives him a quick wink. "That being said, I'm afraid your only choices for breakfast are bacon and eggs or pancakes. And even then, I can't promise anything."

"Either one."

Cas opens the oversized refrigerator. "All three it is then."

"You don't need-"

"I know. But you look like you haven't seen a decent meal in really long time."

Gad looks down at himself. He's tall and when he draws himself up to his full height, he has been able to intimidate people into leaving him alone. He's broad shouldered but other than that, quite unassuming. He tugs absently on the hem of his t-shirt. "May I help?"

Cas hands him a bag of coffee from the door of the fridge. "If I can figure out the coffeemaker, so can you. Have at it."

He releases a breath he had been holding, relieved that the task given him is something he can do. One of the jobs at Ellen's bar was to always keep a pot of coffee on and ready to serve. Sometimes it was to wake up weary truck drivers and other times it was to sober up some people before they left the bar. Despite the one in front of him having more buttons than an airplane cockpit, he manages to find where the coffee and water go. He returns the coffee bag to the refrigerator as the smell of the brewing coffee battles with the scent of the sizzling bacon.

Cas is right in his assumption, Gad hasn't eaten a square meal in a long time and certainly not in such a nice home. There's a pleasant peacefulness to the home, a quiet that Gad hasn't experienced since his childhood. He can't place his finger on what exactly it is: the countryside, the house, the food? It doesn't really matter though as Cas tells him where to find the plates and silverware and he places them on the large round oak table.

"The only rule in this house is as follows," Cas tells him in all seriousness. "Do not speak to Dean when he comes down here. Let him drink his coffee and then speak only when he speaks to you."

Gad nods seriously. "Okay."

Once the food is on the table, Gad has to admit that Cas was a bit modest about his cooking abilities. Bacon, scrambled eggs with onion and bell peppers mixed in there, and a platter of pancakes, it's a feast to be certain. And certainly more than just the two of them will eat.

"Do you want me to get Sam?"

Cas stands back and smiles slowly. "I like you."

Gad shifts on his feet uneasily, causing the floorboards to creak. "Thank you."

Cas laughs and sits down at the table, motioning for Gad to join him. "The thing about the Winchesters, you never have to call them when it's time to eat. They just instinctually know when food hits the table. And eat quickly, they descend like locust."

Gad is doubtful of Cas' rendition of the matter but that soon dissipates when he hears someone coming down the stairs. The man that appears in the kitchen is not what Gad expects as Sam's older brother. Dean is a few inches shorter that Sam, his lighter colored hair cut short. He's still in his boxer shorts, t-shirt and an open grey robe. If he notices or cares that there's a stranger sitting at his breakfast table, he pays no mind.

As Dean sits down at the table with his cup of coffee in front oh him, Gad hears the back door of the mudroom open and close. Sam meanders into the kitchen and takes the chair between Cas and Gad with a sense of familiarity.

"Morning, Cas," Sam greets as he pulls a couple pancakes on his plate.

"Morning, Sam. Get any sleep?"

"Nope, not yet. Maybe tomorrow. You leaving for a job today or you off?"

"I have to leave in a little. Be back tonight though. It's just a kitchen remodel."

Dean groans and frowns down into his coffee cup. "Would you chatty Kathys shut it?"

"We're not talking to you, grumpy," Sam replies, completely unperturbed by his brother's scolding.

"Drink your coffee, Dean," Cas encourages.

Gad settles back in the chair and lets the quiet conversation between Sam and Cas wash over him. The food, the setting, the people, it's as if he had just walked out of hell and found himself in Heaven by mistake. The feeling of being discovered, found out that he shouldn't be here at all, creeps into his mind and curls around his conscious. He's a convicted felon, possibly twice over. He has no business marring these people's lives with his inability to function in the world. He's halfway through his plate of food when Dean speaks again and it's directed at Gad himself.

"Who the hell are you?"

"New client," Sam answers. "Gad Sullivan."

"Can he talk or is he mute?"

"I can speak."

Dean turns his green eyes, a couple shades brighter than his younger brother's, to Cas. "I suppose you're the one who invited him into the house to eat our food."

Cas nods emphatically. "I like him. Be nice."

Dean seems to think about it for a moment and then half shrugs. "Coffee's good."

* * *

Sam finishes breakfast and realizes he has a long list of people to speak with concerning the case but he needs to start with Gad himself. He hangs back, helps Cas load up his Jeep and sees him off. Dean follows close behind, heading into the firehouse because he doesn't exactly like hanging out in the house without Cas being there.

"You alright by yourself?" he asks Sam as they stand on the large wraparound porch.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Sure?"

Sam lifts the corner of his t-shirt to reveal the handle of a handgun. "I'm sure."

Dean glances back at the house. "He doesn't seem too crazy."

"Crazy, no. A mystery, hell yeah."

"Well, you always did like figuring out mysteries." Dean opens the door to his 1967 Chevy Impala. "Man makes good coffee. Always trust a man who makes good coffee."

Sam laughs. "I'll be sure to put that in my closing arguments."

"You call if you need anything."

"Will do."

Sam waves his brother off and sits down on the top step of the porch to wait for Gad to come out of the house. He had left him in there doing the dishes and figures he'll look for Sam when he's done. After reading the file and having dealt with people who had spent most of their lives on the inside of a prison, he figures Gad is no different. He'll seek out someone who will tell him what to do next. He'll follow orders from whoever gives them. But that makes his assault on Thaddeus even more confusing.

The screen door behind Sam shuts quietly behind him. He stands and turns to find Gad, quiet and ready for whatever Sam is going to task him with next. He won't talk openly about anything until Sam gets him to relax somewhat so that's where he'll have to start.

"You like horses?"

"Yes."

"Come on then," Sam puts his hands in his pockets and starts off towards the barn. He can hear Gad's footfalls slightly behind him and off to the left. Sam tries to adjust his speed and eventually they're almost walking side by side but Gad seems intent on staying at Sam's back. Oddly enough, Sam feels it's more a protective stance than threatening.

Sam steps into the barn, enjoying the interested knickers directed at him. It is nice when something is happy to see you, even if it's more interested in the food you brought and not yourself. It isn't a large barn, only ten stalls with four horses taking up residence. "Did you have horses in Oklahoma?"

Gad stands just inside the barn, his eyes roving over the sight before him. "Own, no. But my mother managed a barn and I was allowed to help her."

"Oh yeah? You have experience with managing a barn?"

"Some, yes."

Gad Sullivan is definitely going down as Sam's oddest and most surprising client ever. "Did you ride?"

Gad nods and moves to the closest horse who's sticking his nose through the bars. He opens his hand, palm flat and presented to the horse. A small smile actual tugs on the corners of his lips as the horse licks the offered hand. "I did some barrel racing and roping before I..."

It's the opening that Sam is looking for and he takes it. "Went to prison?"

All signs of enjoyment drop from his facial expression. "Yes."

Sam sits down on one of the hay bales sitting in the aisle. "You want to tell me how that came about?"

Gad wraps his hand around one of the metal bars of the stall, his knuckles going white. "You read my file."

"There wasn't a whole lot to read, I have to tell you." His client remains silent so Sam decides to push a bit. "It said that you stole close to $50,000 worth of electronics-"

"I didn't steal anything!"

It's the first flash of anger that Sam has seen first hand but a flash is all it is. Gad soon calms and leans heavily against the stall door. "I need to know what really happened."

"It doesn't matter now. I served my sentence. I did my time."

"That's not what a jury wants to hear."

"It's what happened though."

Sam isn't getting anywhere with this line of questioning. "Gad, I need you to answer one question, yes or no."

Gad's shoulders hunch, his jaw tenses but he finally looks at Sam.

"Did you steal those things when you were seventeen?"

"It doesn't matter if I did or if I didn't."

"It matters to me. And I can make it matter to the jury. Yes or no."

Gad sighs, weariness heavy in the noise. He walks over to a tack trunk that's across from Sam and sits down. His hands instinctually rest on his legs, his fingers curling around his knees. "I...did not steal anything when I was seventeen."

Sam wishes he had something to write down notes on but he doesn't want to break the connection he's finally established with his client. And maybe that would be worse. Maybe Gad had enough of lawyers and police officers. Maybe what he really needs is just a friend to listen to his account. So Sam sits back on the hay bale and folds his hands in front of him.

"Tell me what happened, Gad."

_If you would like to see a sneak peek of the next chapter on Wednesday, come follow me over on Tumblr, The Hinky Panda! _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Confessions**

Gad sits down heavily on the tack trunk and closes his eyes. He lets his fingers find the familiar grooves along his knee caps and squeezes gently. It is a habit he picked up in prison, a coping mechanism whenever he was faced with the unpleasantness around him. It offers a distraction now as he draws in breath and starts to speak.

"I...did not steal anything when I was seventeen."

He hears Sam settle in a more comfortable position across from him. He knows he needs to tell the story again but he's so tired of reliving those details. He wants nothing more than to put it behind him, move forward but no matter what he does, it still comes back and haunts him. The thought of not saying anything else appeals to him more each passing second and he almost resigns himself to going back to jail for the rest of his life if it means never speaking of this again.

"Tell me what happened, Gad."

The tone surprises Gad and when he looks up, he finds Sam is staring at him. He's sharp-eyed and focused but there's no duplicity in the green eyes. He wants the story, unabridged and there's an unspoken promise in the gentle demand that this will bring no harm to him. Gad hopes he's interpreting this correctly at least. He hopes he's not misplacing his faith in the wrong person again. But Sam is sitting there across from him, quiet and relaxed and looking like a friend. So he steps out on the ledge and tells the story once more.

"I had spent the day before with my mother at the barn she managed. There was a hay delivery and she needed extra hands to unload and stack it. I went home, showered, ate dinner, took an allergy pill and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning, ate breakfast, dressed and went back to the barn. The police came around noon and starting asking about my car. I gave them permission to search it and that's when they found the stolen electronics."

"Just to clarify, you had no idea they were in there?"

Gad shakes his head. "None."

"Who had access to your car and the keys?"

"My mother, father. Anyone really. We lived in the middle of nowhere. We never locked our front door, let alone the cars. I always kept the keys under the floor mat."

Sam frowns. "So basically anyone could have used your car."

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea who could have used your car for the robbery? Who knew you kept it unlocked and the keys under the mat?"

The truth is, he does know who took the car but he's never told anyone who it was. He's never been able to speak the name. Age old guilt and shame come over him and choke him into silence once more.

Sam is now sitting forward, interested and waiting. "Gad, you need to tell me everyone who had access to your car."

"My whole family. All the neighbors. Pretty much everyone in Blackwell."

"You need to narrow it down for me."

Gad shakes his head and looks away. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Son of a bitch."

Gad turns in surprise. Sam's face has contorted into complete frustration.

"You know who it was."

Gad presses his mouth into a thin line.

"You know exactly who it was."

"It wasn't me and that's all that matters."

"Dammit, Gad," Sam stands up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "These are things you need to tell me."

"Why?"

"Because I need all the information, good or bad. I need to know everything that you know so I don't get blindsided in the courtroom."

"I didn't do it!"

"Who did?"

He can't do it. Even after all these years, he can't speak the name. So he stands up and starts to leave the barn. His first lawyer all those years ago, a timid man who stopped asking questions when Gad flared his temper, never pursued the issue. He expects Sam to do the same, to leave it. But he feels a hand on his arm, pulling him back to face Sam. Sam is not timid and will not be so easily cowed. And it leaves Gad feeling trapped and uneasy. His skin itches and his breathing comes quicker.

Sam's determination quiets slightly but he brings his other hand to Gad's shoulder and squeezes the joint. "Listen to me, I'm your lawyer and that makes me your confidant. All your dirty little secrets, all the things that Thaddeus' lawyer is going to throw at you, I need to know so I can prepare for it. To explain it. I need the truth, all of it."

Gad's mind catches on the phrase "dirty little secrets." That's precisely what landed him in jail the first time. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell Sam the entire story, tell him the name of the real thief, but today isn't that day.

* * *

Sam knows a losing battle when he sees one. It's something all lawyers are just innately born with being able to see. Gad has shut down once more and will not talk about the robbery charge. But Sam needs the information, needs to know everything so that he make sure the man in front of him gets the justice he deserves. He needs to try a different approach, a new angle. Maybe if Sam can blind side him into talking, they can broach the subject once more with a bit more success.

"Okay," Sam claps him on the shoulder firmly. "Okay, we won't talk about your first charge."

Gad doesn't say anything but the look of relief on his face is hard to ignore.

Sam starts to walk back to the barn. The horses did seem to have a calming effect on his client and he's pleased to see the man follows him back into the aisle. Sam reclaims his seat on the hay bale but Gad continues to peer into each stall and silently greet each the horse. Every minute that passes, the less tense Gad seems to be and Sam tries again with the information gathering.

"Who was your first lawyer?"

"Chuck Shirley."

Sam already knew that but he wanted to hear Gad's opinion of the man. He only knew of Shirley by reputation. By the time Sam had started practicing law, Chuck Shirley had disappeared. Word around the courthouse was he had a nervous breakdown and was in an out of state psych ward. Others thought a client drug him off in the middle of the night and buried him somewhere out on the plains. There even was a brief rumor circulating that Chuck moved out to California and was directing one of the many crime shows on TV. Either way, the man is no longer available and Sam can't access any of his files. "What did you think of him?"

Gad shrugs. "He did his best."

With the limited information you gave him, I'm sure he did, Sam thinks but bites his tongue. "Do you happen to know where he is now? Did he ever keep up with you?"

"I never saw him again after I was sentenced. He said we could appeal but I didn't see the reason in it."

"Did he try to talk you into doing an appeal?"

"No."

"Did he visit you in prison?"

"No."

Sam feels like punching a wall. It's not a lawyer's job to give up on their client. Shirley should have been stalking Gad, wearing him down, pleading him out. "I'm sorry, Gad."

Confusion furrows his brow. "For what?"

"Shirley didn't do his job. He didn't defend you the way he should have. We're paid to be pit bulls, the ones who don't give up or let go until our clients get a proper hearing and trial. And if that fails, we keep fighting until justice is done. Shirley gave up."

"He…did his best."

"And you served someone else's sentence."

The annoyance returns and Gad turns his back to Sam, opting to stare at the Appaloosa in the stall.

Sam continues the line of questioning. "You don't happen to have copies of his records or files from the trial, do you?"

"No."

"Do you know anyone he might have left those files to before he disappeared?"

That gets Gad's attention. "Chuck Shirley disappeared?"

"About ten years ago, just dropped off the face of the Earth. No one knows where he went or what happened to him."

"No one thought to look for him?"

"Oh, the police and his colleagues did. Not a trace."

Gad seems to process this bit of information and finally relents somewhat. "My mother and father died while I was in prison. I have an aunt, Hester Sullivan, that most likely has them. She's my emergency contact so you can find her information in my parole file."

Sam fights so hard to control his reaction. He wants to jump up and hug the man for giving him a starting point to unravel everything. But instead, he struggles to keep his face blank, relaxed. "You don't mind if I give her a call today?"

"You may call her. I haven't spoken to her since I was released. I'm not…her favorite nephew."

Sam bites his tongue again. He knows there's so much more to the story, so much more to the man himself, then is being told. He has some time to play with but not a lot. He's going to have to move relatively quickly. "Well, since I do have some calls to make, I'm going to head back to the house. I'll be in my office if you need anything, just give me a shout."

Gad turns towards him, slight alarm in his eyes. "You're leaving me alone?"

Sam stands and motions to the corn fields outside. "Where are you going to go? Our nearest neighbors are about eight miles away. Proper civilization is a thirty minute drive. If you're that desperate, you're beyond my range of help."

It may be cruel but Sam's curiosity gets the better of him. True, he did have phone calls to make but he also wanted to see what Gad would do completely unsupervised. Without giving his client any instruction or direction, he walks out of the barn and returns to his home. He climbs the stairs, goes into his office and moves the chair so he can watch the barn. There is no movement, no sign of Gad. Sam flips open a file and finds the cell number of Gad's Aunt Hester. He certainly hopes that Hester isn't as tight-lipped as her nephew.

"Eden Farms."

Sam uncaps his pen and grabs a legal pad. "Hi, my name is Sam Winchester. I'm looking for a Hester Sullivan."

"This is she."

"I'm a lawyer representing your nephew, Gadreel."

"Oh God," she sighed, "what did he do now?"

A flash of irritation comes over Sam and he immediately goes on the defensive. "What makes you say that?"

"I like Gad, don't get me wrong but trouble follows him no matter where he goes. Poor guy can't seem to catch a break. So I'll ask again, what happened now?"

"He was arrested last night for assaulting a corrections officer." That's all the information Sam gives her. He wants to see how she'll take that bit of information.

"Hm. That…doesn't sound like him."

"He said the officer was harassing a young lady and that's why he stepped in."

"That sounds like him."

Sam writes down Hester's name with a note "character witness" beside it. "Before I can figure out the assault case, I need to look back at the original case that landed him in prison. Do you happen to have the previous lawyer's files?"

"I do. They're in a storage locker. Not sure if they'll be a lot of help though. Shirley wasn't exactly a grade A lawyer. He drank more than anything."

"That's what I've heard. Can you tell me anything about the robbery case?"

"Hang on," Hester tells him and he can hear a door shut on her end. "All I can do is hypothesize."

It's more than what Sam is getting out of Gad at this point. "Hypothesize away."

Hester laughs. "He's not talking about it at all, is he?"

"Not the important parts of it."

"That's not surprising and it gives more weight to my own theories. Mind you, this is not fact."

"Noted."

"Gad was a good kid, never gave my brother or his wife trouble. Everyone loved him, even the animals. And you can't pull anything over on animals. He would never break the law, he would never steal. If a cashier gave him back the wrong change, he would correct them. I think he took the fall for someone else."

Hester's analysis is spot on with the story that Gad gave him. "So why would he take the fall for someone? Why go to jail for twenty years for something he didn't do?"

Hester sighs. "I think whoever did steal those things had something on Gad, something that they were threatening him with. 'I'll tell on you if you tell on me' kind of thing."

"Any thoughts on what that could be?"

"With certainty, no but if I had to put money on anything, it would be his sexuality. He came out to his mother while he was in prison and she swore up and down that prison made him that way and when he got out she would find a way to 'fix him.' Personally, I don't think anything 'makes' someone gay or straight. You are what you are which means he was gay before he went to prison."

Sam is stunned into silence and it takes him a few seconds to regain his voice. Now he understands why Gad reacted the way he did when Sam asked him if having a gay couple living next door was going to be problem. "You really think he would have rather gone to jail for twenty years then be outed as a homosexual?"

"You don't understand what it was like down here twenty years ago. His parents would have kicked him out of the house and shunned him. Most of the extended family wouldn't have taken him in either. I hate to say it but knowing some of the good 'ole boys down here, prison might have been safer for him."

Sam doesn't want to tell her that it probably wasn't as safe as she thinks it was. "Any ideas who might have had knowledge of that and used it against him?"

"Gad has a boatload of cousins all around Blackwell. Our family is huge. It could have been any of his cousins or their friends. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Would you be able to make a list of all his family members that are still living?"

"Yeah, I can do that. But how does this figure into the assault case?"

"I just want to be well prepared for anything the prosecutor sends my way."

"Fair enough. Where do you want me to send the files?"

"I'm outside of Wichita actually. I can take a couple days and run down to Blackwell myself."

"Any chance Gad can come for a visit too? Some of us do miss him."

Sam smiles at the thought that his client may have more support than he believes. "Unfortunately, he can't cross state lines at the moment. But maybe once this is all over, he'll pay a visit."

Hester thanks him, very sincerely, for taking the case. But as she starts to hang up, she remembers something else. "There's one other person you might want to talk to. Gad didn't have a lot of friends, certainly didn't make any in prison but there was one inmate he did write home about a couple times. The guy was from Wichita, his daughter had been abducted and he was a suspect. They jailed him for about a week and he was distraught by the whole situation that Gad kind of stepped up and protected him while he was there. Eventually he was cleared when the little girl was found and returned home but he and Gad wrote each other letters for a while. If Gad would have spilled secrets to anyone, it might have been him."

"You have a name?"

"Sarver. Alexander Sarver. I don't know if he's still in Wichita though."

"I'll track him down. Thanks for all your help, Hester. I'll let you know when I'll be in Blackwell."

* * *

Gad watches Sam do exactly what he said was going to do: go back to the house. He is at a complete loss as to what to do with himself. He's not used to having free time, unstructured and without a list of tasks. Sam's questions have left him more than uneasy and he needs to find things to do to distract him from his own thoughts.

He sets out to explore the small barn. He finds a tack room with an office adjoined to it. There's a ladder by the last stall that leads up to the hayloft. The hay bales are thrown haphazardly around the space so that's where he starts. He separates the hay from the timothy and stacks the bales in neat rows before sweeping up the loose hay and dividing it up between the four horses below. With that done, he returns to the barn and finds grooming brushes.

His mind starts to settle with the repetitive motion of the brushes against the horses' flank. All four of the horses are well maintained, healthy and quiet. He didn't expect any less from what he had witnessed of the three men who lived on the property. His thoughts turn to Sam despite his attempts at focusing on the horse he's grooming.

He should have told Sam everything about the robbery charge. He should have told him why he had stayed silent all these years. He is fairly certain the statute of limitations has passed and the person who did commit the crime will not be punished for what he did. Sam is right, as his lawyer he needs to know everything. But there's more to it than that. Sam wants to know everything. Yes, he needs to know certain things but he also wants to know them. He truly wants to help Gad and it's more than anyone in a long time has done.

He makes up his mind, he will tell Sam everything tonight. He'll give himself today to organize his thoughts, prepare for the confession and make sure that Sam gets every detail he needs. The decision settles his spirit and calms his thoughts. He has an ally now and he needs to work with that ally. It isn't something that he's used to but he's determined to do his best.

"You gonna muck the stalls while you're at it?"

Gad jumps slightly at the sound of a woman's voice. He didn't hear anyone drive up but there is a red convertible sports car parked outside the barn. The woman is staring at him through the stall bars with a smirk on her pretty face. Her long black hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He wonders if she actual owns the horses and only boards them with the Winchesters.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, don't be," she answers. "I hate grooming them to be honest. That's more my sister's thing. Not that I'm overly fond of cleaning the stalls either but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

She gives him that leering smirk again and he turns away to hide his uneasiness. "Are you the barn manager then?"

"More or less I suppose. You must be Sammy's latest client though you don't exactly exude the typical bad boy vibe."

He gathers up the brushes and steps out of the stall. "I am Mr. Winchester's client. Gad Sullivan."

She snorts. "Mr. Winchester. God, where did he find you? Some kind of butler who slaughtered an entire family while they slept?"

"No, not exactly."

She shrugs, completely unmoved by his criminal past without even knowing what it is. "I'll get that wheelbarrow for you, Gad."

"Thank you…"

"Ruby." She smiles at him but it comes across more as predatory then friendly. "I'm Ruby."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Broken**

By the time Sam realizes that he completely forgot to warn Gad of the Master sisters showing up to care for the horses, Ruby's convertible is tearing off down the gravel driveway. He jumps up and is half way down the stairs when Gad steps through the front door and dutifully takes off his shoes. There's nothing about his demeanor that speaks to him being uncomfortable or put off by his encounter with Ruby.

"You okay?" Sam asks.

Gad gives him a confused look. "Should I not be?"

"No, no," Sam rubs the back of his neck and follows his client into the kitchen. "I forgot to tell you about Ruby coming today. Sorry if that, I don't know, took you by surprise."

"I've met strangers before, Sam."

Sam struggles with a better way to explain his concerns when he catches a brief smile in the corner of Gad's mouth. Son of a bitch is teasing him and Sam laughs. "Fair enough. But I will warn you now, Ruby can get a little handsy with the clients I bring to the farm. She's big into the 'bad boy' experience."

Gad nods slowly as he washes his hands at the kitchen sink. "I, uh, figured that."

"Her sister, Meg, is a bit more tolerable. She's just sharp tongued. She'll be out tomorrow. I can give you their schedule if you want."

"I don't think that will necessary. I did work at a bar for the last two months and had my share of inebriated woman who were...handsy, as you put it."

Sam can't tell if the lawyer part of him is happy that Gad is finally talking or if he's just relieved he's connecting with this enigma of a man. "So how did Ellen Harvelle deal with that?"

Gad leans back on the sink and crosses his arms. "She usually had me give them a cup of coffee and help them in the back of a cab. No complaints were registered against me if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't but good to know."

"Did you speak to my aunt?"

"I did," Sam smiles and makes sure Gad sees it. "She was very helpful and very supportive. She even asked if you would be coming back to Blackwell for a visit."

"That's...surprising."

"How so?"

Gad gives him a look that is difficult to read. There's tension, distrust and touch of wanting to talk openly. He starts to speak but stops himself each time. He finally turns around and stares out the window. Sam thinks that's the end of the conversation and wonders if he should go finish making calls but something tells him to sit still, to wait. He's shocked when Gad starts to talk.

"I was very different from the rest of my family. I never really fit in. I had the sense that most of them were relieved when I was incarcerated."

"My dad wanted me to be a mechanic. You have to be what you're suppose to be."

"Mine wanted me to be...normal."

"What makes you not normal?" Sam waits for an answer but Gad is unmoving and silent so Sam decides he'll be the one to address the subject directly. "Because you're gay? I hate to break it to you but sexual orientation doesn't make you normal or otherwise."

Gad hangs his head and sighs. "So many times I wished for the same thing as my family. I don't know what I am. I...was trying to figure it out before I went to prison and then...things get decided for you in there."

Sam had been in the game long enough, had defended enough men who served jail time to know the "don't drop the soap" joke is very much not a joke. There is a lot that goes on in prison that the guards either ignore or are never aware of the happenings. Gad is different, his speech is formal for a rural Oklahoma native and his quiet, reserved nature could be mistaken for shyness. He would have definitely been targeted in jail. A sudden rise in protectiveness flares in Sam. "You're out now and I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure you stay out. But once this over, if you want to press charges-"

"No."

Sam lets it drop. "Well, you concentrate on you now. Jody said the arraignment will most likely be next week sometime. Your land lord, by the way a real douche, is giving you two weeks to get your belongings out so we can do that when we go to arraignment."

"Where am I suppose to go?"

"When?"

"After the arraignment."

Sam is completely thrown by the line of questioning. "You come back here."

Gad finally turns around to face him again. "And how long am I allowed to stay here?"

"Until the end of the trial."

"That could be six months or more. You're going to allow to me to stay with you for half a year or more?"

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "Well, if you get on my nerves I'll just send up to the main house, how's that?"

"You mean this? I can stay for that long?"

It strikes Sam that the man in front of him has had very little kindness shown to him. He has spoken of no friends, no family that he's in contact with. He's alone, lost and not just in the process of picking up pieces but trying to figure out which pieces are even missing. Sam's going to have to talk to Dean and Cas about rallying around this client, being a pseudo-support group of sorts. Gad is going to need all the help he can get to adjust to just being a regular Joe. But most of all, he is going to need to a friend, an honest to God friend.

"Yeah, Gad, you can stay for as long as you want."

Gad seems more humbled than happy by Sam's offer. "I would like help, earn my keep around here then."

Of course he would. Sam has a strong feeling that Gad is a tally keeper. You do something nice for him, he'll do something nice for you. It is another common side effect of living in a prison environment. "We can work that out later. Some of my clients have helped Cas on jobs where he needed help. Some did upkeep on the buildings around the property. There's something we'll give you to do."

"Good."

"But for now, I still have some calls to make so why don't you relax, get some sleep, get settled, whatever you want. Just...breathe."

Gad seems to do just that and even manages to give Sam a small and brief smile.

* * *

Sam tells him to relax so that is what he does. He brought one bag of clothes with him so settling in isn't going to take long at all. He hasn't read in a long time so Gad goes into the living room and looks at the selection on the built in bookcases. More accurately, a book he hasn't read yet. He's on the second shelf when he realizes that they all have common theme. He's certain any and every book penned by John Grisham is there. There are two copies of "How to Kill Mockingbird" though one is a first edition by the looks of it while the other is most likely meant to be read. William Coughlin, Michael Connelly, Kermit Roosevelt, Tami Hoag. All with law and justice type titles. His life is a crime novel, he isn't too keen to read about more court cases.

"Sorry about the selection," Sam says as he passes through on his way back up to his office. "Cas actually picked most the books, said he was going with a theme or some nonsense like that. The ones I've read are actually in the cabinet underneath the TV."

"Thank you, Sam." But apparently the only books that Sam has read is the Game of Thrones series. He looks back up at the shelves and sees one book that doesn't have legal jargon in the title, "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult. He's surprised when he reads the back of it that it too is a courtroom setting but there was more to it than that so he settles for that one. However he barely gets through the third chapter before he falls sound asleep on the couch.

Since it had been a while since he had slept, dreams come fast and vivid to him. The ticking of the clock turns into the sound of the patrol guard's footfalls as he makes his rounds when things are quiet. The deeper sleep he enters into, the louder everything gets in his mind. The sound of doors closing and locking, the shouting of other inmates, hyperawareness of any hint that the guy sleeping above you stays asleep because if he doesn't...

The fear comes back, colors his dreams. Avoid corners where cameras aren't placed. Never face the wall, close your eyes or let your mind wander in the shower. Never make direct eye contact with any of the other inmates. If they tell you to do something, do it without question. But even then, that isn't enough. You can follow all the social cues and unspoken rules and still end up with bruised knees and another piece of your spirit taken away.

But these are dreams. He has power here, power he didn't have in prison. He can fight back and so he does. When he hears the familiar sound of someone coming up behind him in the shower, he doesn't submit. He balls his fist up, tenses all the muscles in his body. He will fight back. He will take control back.

"Gad!"

He wakes with a jolt, his hands clenched so tightly the joints ache but it's only Sam who is standing there. Sam, who's at a respectable distance with his hands raised in front of him. Gad's not in prison. He's not in a cell. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tries to slow his heart, hiding his shaking hands by interlocking his fingers. "I'm so-"

"Don't be. You're not the first one to react like that."

For some reason, he never has given thought to others who had suffered the way he had and their having to cope with the outside world. It never even occurred to him that there were always other victims, that no one had truly walked their road alone. It is selfish of him to think that he is the only one. "How did the others overcome it?"

Sam takes a seat in one of the wing back chairs. He's wearing different clothes, though still jeans and a flannel shirt. His hair is damp from a recent shower and he scratches at the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Some of them don't ever get over the experience, I hate to tell you. But some do gain the coping skills that they need. Did your corrections officer set up with a counseling service?"

He remembers the numbers she did give him, numbers that didn't apply to him. "Only for drugs and alcohol. Rehab facilities mostly."

Sam frowns. "That's...got to change. I can point you in the right direction of a few people I know. If you want to talk to someone. If not now, then when you're ready."

The offer touches him more than thinking of taking him up on it. Maybe one day. He's actually surprised that he's shared as much as he has already with Sam. But Sam had told him that he needed the whole story, all the dirty little secrets. Well, that is what he's going to get. But not right now. "I will think about it."

"Good. On to even less pleasant business, Sheriff Mills called me and said Thaddeus came in with his entourage demanding you be locked up again."

Gad tightens his hands as the trembling comes back. "And?"

"And?"

"When do I have to go back?"

"The arraignment has been set for the end of the week."

Eleven days. "When is she coming?"

"Who?"

"The Sheriff."

Sam gives him a confused look until realization dawns on his face. "You're not going back to jail. Jody and I have an understanding and it's perfectly legal. As long as you're out, I am your responsible party. If you do anything to break the law further, my ass gets thrown in jail too. There's only a few clients I feel comfortable enough to bring out here so don't make me regret it."

"No, of course not."

"Good. Well, go get a shower. Dinner is up at the main house and since it's above thirty degrees, Dean is grilling."

* * *

Sam heads up to the main house with a relatively slow pace. His mind is full of details, both known and unknown, but more, his heart is heavy. He can count on one hand the number of clients that made enough of impression on him that he still followed up on them when he could. But for some reason, this one hit close to home. His client had been framed, taken the fall for a crime he didn't commit, is now being accused of assaulting someone but there is still a vulnerability to the man. Gad has seen, done and suffered things that no human being should have to and yet, he still has an almost gentleness to him.

"Hey."

Sam snaps out of his thoughts to see Dean standing on the patio lighting the grill. Sam shakes off the weight of that he's carried with him before joining his brother. "Hey."

Dean hands him a beer with a serious look. "This one is getting to you already."

"Yeah, it is."

"Alright, what's the run down on him?"

Sam sighs and tries to organize the timeline in his head. "What I can gather so far is he took the fall for someone else on the robbery charge twenty years ago. Best guess, they knew he was gay and threatened to out him. So, he went to jail instead."

"Jail was better than dealing with the family fallout?"

Sam gives his brother a grin. "Not everyone has the pleasure of having a wonderful, supportive and accepting brother when it comes to this kind of thing."

"True." Dean returns the smile. "But still, jail?"

"Fear makes you do crazy things."

Dean opens the grill and tosses a couple steaks on it. "He eats steaks, right?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

"Dude, I've told you, you need to ask them what they can and can't eat." Dean gave a side eyed look down at Sam's house. "He could be vegan for all we know."

"Dean, he's eaten prison food for twenty years. If you put mac and cheese on the table, he would eat it without complaint." Sam shakes his head. "I have a feeling you can say and do anything to him and he wouldn't complain."

"So what got him in trouble this time?"

Sam sits down on one of the lawn chairs. "I only just skimmed over the police report that Jody sent me but it seems pretty cut and dry. He was taking out the trash and stumbled on a guy manhandling a woman. He stepped in on her behalf and got a punch to the face for it so he returned the sentiment. Only the guy ended up with a concussion and he happens to be to corrections officer."

Dean shakes his head. "That's going to be a tough one. Ex-con sending a CO to the hospital. Where's the girl?"

That is the part Sam hasn't told Gad. "She's, uh, in the wind."

"Damn. What are you going to do?"

"Try to track her down. She's the only one who can speak out on his behalf since she was there. I'm going to look over the files from the first case and see if I can't get some justice for this guy. I'm also going to have to pull on some character witnesses too and hope it's enough to sway the jury."

Dean flips the steaks with practiced ease. "You think he deserves to be walking around and free?"

Sam nods slowly. "I don't think he should have been locked up in the first place."

"Well, if anyone can set the record straight, it's you."

"Thanks."

"Just, uh, be careful. This one has his hooks in you early."

"Dean-"

"I wouldn't be much a big brother if I didn't worry about you. And you have this look in your eye that I don't normally see until you're ready to walk into the courtroom. This one is different," Dean grabs a platter and starts to put the steaks on it. "But really, be careful."

Sam sits there for a few minutes after his brother had gone inside with the food. He sees Gad leave the house and start towards the main house. His hair is still wet from a shower and he's in a fresh shirt and jeans. He still looks weary, worn and expecting the worst. His shoulders still bend in on themselves in a protective hunch and Sam can't help but get the image of an angel with broken wings out of his head.

Dean is right. This is getting to him very quickly but Sam doesn't know if it's the case or Gad Sullivan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Wall of God**

Early morning light finds its way through a break in the curtains and alerts Gad to morning's arrival. He is afraid to open his eyes, afraid that it will mean everything from yesterday had been a wonderful dream. He doesn't want to wake and find himself surrounded by white washed walls and iron bars.

But the bed is too soft, the sheets, blankets and pillow too high quality for it to be prison. There's no sound of another person in the room, just birdsong outside the window. This also means the steak dinner that he ate last night also happened and the thought of eating real food again is enough to rouse him from the early morning drowsiness. He can smell coffee brewing downstairs and the thought appeals to him even more when his bare feet come into contact with the cold floor.

He pulls on his clothes from last night and finds they still smell like woodsmoke and spices, something he is very much not opposed to in the least. It's a reminder that he has a roof over his head and food provided for him indefinitely. Yes, it's still a cage but there is some freedom allowed. And gratefulness for the respect that has been shown him by not only Sam but Dean and Cas as well makes the bars seem less threatening.

Sam is already in the kitchen, putting files and a legal pad into his briefcase. He's dressed in a suit and a tie and looks every inch a lawyer. Gad doesn't know why but seeing Sam like this gives him hope. He's being taken seriously. His case is being taken seriously. Unless...unless Sam is handling another case and he is off to work on that case. The feeling of being shoved to the back burner again leaves him with a cold spot in the center of his chest.

"Hey, glad you're up," Sam greets when he sees Gad standing at the threshold of the kitchen. "This is what I need you to do today for me." He puts a fresh legal pad and pen down on the kitchen table. "I need you to write out your witness statement as to what happened the other night. Be as detailed as possible. Times, smells, location, anything and everything, put it down."

"Okay."

"Dean's going to be around and he likes to check on my clients to make sure they're not stealing things or trying to burn down the house. It's normal for him to check on you about ten times before I get back. Don't take it personally."

"I will not."

Sam frowns as he fills a travel mug with coffee. "You okay?"

"Yes." He wants to ask Sam where he's going, what is he going to go do and for whom. But it's not polite or right. He's not the only client of Sam's, there are others who need his attention too. He can't be selfish.

Sam shrugs. "Alright. I have to meet with Naomi Angelson, check in with Jody and visit Ellen Harvelle's bar to see where the incident happened. I might not be back until late so help yourself to whatever is in the refrigerator. If you're desperate, you can go beg at the main house. Cas usually gets home around four and he'll feed you for certain. Dean's," Sam sighs, "Dean is just protective. Sometimes overly."

"I understand." And Gad does. There are certain things that you protect with everything you have so they won't be taken from you. He feels that tug towards Sam already. Even though he had just moments ago determined not to be selfish, there is a relief at knowing Sam is handling his case with a sense of urgency.

Sam puts a business card down on the table. "Cell phone number if you need to reach me for anything at all. Do you have a cell phone?"

Gad shakes his head. It isn't on his list of priorities and besides, who would want to call him any way?

"Okay, I'll get you a burn phone just in case," Sam makes a note of it on his own phone before clapping Gad on the shoulder. "It'll be okay. I'll see you tonight."

It isn't until after the door closes that Gad released the breath he had been holding. He hopes that Sam is correct. He wants to believe in Sam and his words. Sam said it was going to be okay and so it will.

* * *

Sam has almost a complete legal pad full of information based off his meetings with Jody, Naomi and Ellen. He reads through it all as he sits outside of Alexander Sarver's home in the Wichita suburbs waiting for the man to return home from work. He hadn't been sure if he would be able to track the guy down or not which is why he didn't mention this stop to Gad. Sarver was actually very easy to find.

Skimming through his notes, Sam finds himself even more confused at Gad's case. Naomi Angelson, one of the toughest parole officers out there, had nothing to say but positives. He was always on time, never missed a check in and Sam had seen the condition the apartment himself. His so-called assault of Thaddeus had taken her by surprise, she described it as out of character. Until he mentioned that it was in defense of a woman.

Ellen Harvelle was a tough sell and didn't want to get involved but thankfully her daughter, Jo, had been extremely helpful. Jo liked Gad, spoke highly of him and had documentation of a couple instances where he stood between her and some rambunctious customers. Jo had even gone so far as to say she felt safe when he was around and showed no signs of a temper or violent nature whatsoever.

Jody's investigation was turning up nothing. Thaddeus was pitching a fit at the fact that Gad was out walking free and even had his lawyer bullying Jody and her department to bring him in and keep him locked up until the arraignment. But Jody was Jody and told the lawyer, Marv Metatron, to kindly stick his objections up his ass.

It is a little after four thirty when Alexander Sarver pulls into the driveway. Sam jumps out of his car, trying to catch the man before he disappears into the house. Sarver is tall, about the same height of Sam himself, with dark hair and a full beard.

"Mr. Sarver?"

He turns towards Sam and shifts the computer bag on his shoulder. "Yes?"

Sam jogs up to him and extends his hand. "Hi, I'm Sam Winchester. I'm an attorney for Gad Sullivan and was wondering if you could spare a few minutes to talk to me?"

The man's face fell. "What's happened to him?"

"I'd prefer not to say out here." Sam notices that Sarver didn't ask what Gad did but rather what happened to him. It is a positive sign.

Sarver hesitates, glances up at the house and Sam follows his gaze. There's a little girl standing by the window, blonde curls and big dark eyes. "Perhaps the backyard then. You can go around the back, through the gate. I'll meet you out there in a few minutes after I see my daughter."

"Of course." Sam follows Sarver's directions through the gate and into the backyard. It's a nice size space, well landscaped with a large patio. Sam takes a seat on one of the cushioned chairs at the table and pulls out a fresh legal pad. He runs through his questions in his mind while watching one of the swings being pushed lazily back and forth by the wind. The sliding glass door opens and closes, pulling Sam out of his thoughts.

"Sorry about that," Sarver says as he sets down a glass of iced tea in front of Sam. "My daughter, Delilah, is very apprehensive of strangers. We don't allow anyone she doesn't know into the house."

Sam glances back at the house and sees the little girl briefly before she ducks behind a curtain. He remembers what Hester had said, that Sarver's daughter had been abducted and he had been jailed until cleared. "That's understandable."

"You know, then?"

"Just the basics."

Sarver tilts his head to the side. "Gad told you about me?"

"Actually, no. One of his family members did."

"Ah." Sarver takes the chair across from Sam. "I'm going to venture a guess and say you've spoken to Hester Sullivan."

"How did you know?"

Saver smiles. "Hester was very concerned about her nephew. I may have ran some information to her. I tried to get Gad to open up communication with her again but, once Gad gets something in his mind, it's difficult to dislodge it."

"He's stubborn."

"Like a mule."

Sam chuckles. It is a handy piece of information but one that Sam could have guessed for himself. "I believe it."

"So what happened to him that he needs another lawyer and how can I help?"

He can't ask for a better attitude and Sam is shocked at how many supporters Gad has surrounding him. Sam tells Sarver the same story he told Dean and waits for the reaction. Sarver doesn't look too concerned however.

"You have a witness to the whole incident."

Sam frowns. "We can't find her. Anywhere."

"Do you have a name?"

He flips through his notes from the other legal pad. "Here it is, Anna Milton."

Sarver looks around and leans forward. "I work on computers for a living. I can navigate through information discreetly. I'll try to find her for you."

It is so much more than Sam had ever hoped to gain from the meeting. But the age old distrust and suspicion rears its ugly head. "Why?"

"I spent seventeen days in county lock-up. They put me in with the general population despite having not even been to trial yet. I was out of my mind with worry and frustration and anger. My daughter was missing. They were blaming me for not only her disappearance, but her death. I was filled with grief and unable to comprehend what was happening. People who prey on children are the lowest scum in prison.

"Gad was my cellmate. He listened to me. He heard my story, my pleas of innocence and understood. He let me grieve the loss of my daughter, the loss of my freedom was a very dim secondary thing. He stood between me and the other inmates. He made sure I was safe." Sarver sits back in his chair. "I ran into one the baddest guys in there one day when Gad was in the infirmary and I had to manage a meal by myself. I'll never forget it. He leaned down, got into my face and said 'the only reason we're not mopping the fuckin' floor with your fuckin', child killing face is because your cellmate decided to pay your fuckin' debt.' I asked Gad that night what the other inmate had meant. He never answered me and I try not to think about the implications.

"My daughter was found the next day. One of our neighbors had taken her and locked her in his basement. She was never the same. She never will be the bright, shining little angel that she was. Neither will I. But we're here, we're alive and we're learning together how to move forward. So you ask me why help Gad and I tell you because I have my own debt to pay back to him. If he hadn't been in my cell, if it had been anyone else, I would killed myself. I'll search for Anna Milton and I'll call you as soon as I find something."

Sam looks at the all notes spread out before him. Jody. Jo. Naomi. Sarver. Even the MIA Anna Milton. There is a continuous thread that is linking all their accounts of Gad together. He is a protector, a defender. He has made a lifelong habit of putting himself between the defenseless and the attackers. It's the character trait that he's going to have to get a jury to see as well. He scribbles "protector" on top of his notes and circles it.

Sarver makes a noise of approval. "Do you know what his name means? Gadreel?"

"No. I actually have never even heard it before."

"It's Biblical. Well, from the Book of Enoch at least. Gadreel was an angel charged with guarding Eden. It's said that he tempted Eve and caused the downfall of humanity. But in Hebrew, his name means 'Wall of God.'" Sarver smiles warmly. "I think it is a very fitting name for him."

It's an interesting enough fact for Sam to write it down as well. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Sarver."

"Alex, please. May I ask, where is Gad staying?"

"He's staying out at my place. A farm a few miles out of the suburbs." Sam asks the question before he can talk himself out of it. "Perhaps you could come out and visit him some time. He could use some friends right now."

"I'll do it. You let me know what would be a good time to come out." Sarver looks back at the house. "You don't happen to have horses do you?"

Sam laughs. "Yeah, as a matter of fact. Does Delilah ride? We can get her on one."

"That...that would very appreciated. She has a fascination with the animal and her therapist says it might be good for her to get around them. But equine therapy is expensive and not exactly covered by insurance."

"You find Anna Milton, I will buy your daughter her own horse."

Sarver gives him a surprised look. "I will hold you to that."

"Before I go though, did Gad ever say why he was in jail?"

Sarver's good mood fades. "He did. He said it was a robbery charge, apparently it was very expensive things that were stolen. He claimed innocence as ardently as I did. I believe him. I don't think he stole those things."

"Did he ever say who did?"

"No, he never did. But…" Sarver trailed off.

"But what?"

Sarver threw up his hand. "I shouldn't admit this but I found his box of letters that people sent him. I didn't read them but I saw there were regular names. I asked him about his family and matched the names to his relations. He had a group of cousins that were all brothers. I don't remember all their names but I do remember Nick was the one who wrote him frequently. And Nick's girlfriend, Lilith, wrote him quite a few letters too. There were a few from a Michael too but Gad didn't like talking about his family. And Hester, of course."

Sam hates to tell Sarver that Gad still doesn't like to talk about his family. He thanks Sarver for his time and the information. They exchange information and Sam gathers his things to leave. He looks at the house one last time and sees Delilah. He raises his hands to wave goodbye and smiles. Surprisingly enough, she returns the motion before darting off further into the house and out of sight. Sam sees himself out and climbs behind the wheel of his car and releases a deep breath. He mulls over the information that he has gathered that day and comes to the conclusion before he pulls into the driveway of the farm that Gad has done enough protecting in his life. It is long overdue that someone will protect him now and Sam determines that he is the best one suited for the job.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Life on the Outside**

It doesn't take Gad long to finish the task that Sam set before him. He dutifully wrote out the entire event, complete with times and descriptions of the surroundings in the span of one cup of coffee. After he sets the pad and pen aside, he spends the new few minutes listening to the silence that has overtaken the house. A part of him expects to hear Sam moving around upstairs but there is no sound, other for a clock ticking somewhere on the first floor.

He's alone. After twenty years of living in prison, having a cellmate and surrounded by the sounds of human beings around him, the quiet makes him nervous. The quiet opens up space for thinking, worrying and construction worst case scenarios. Something is going to happen to Sam. A car accident, Thaddeus' friends jumping him or just a random mugging. Something is going to happen to Sam and he won't be there to stop it.

Gad stands up abruptly but there really is nothing he can do. He doesn't have a car. Hell, he doesn't have a phone. All he can do is wait. And fill the silence so the worries won't consume his thoughts. So he falls back on an old routine and starts to clean the kitchen. He washes all the dishes, dries them and puts them back in the cabinets. He wipes down the small counter space and stove top. It eats up another hour of his time. He starts to move into the living room to continue with his self appointed task when there's a quick rap at the door. That is the only warning he gets before Dean steps into the house.

They stare at each other like fighters, waiting for the first move that will start the dance around the ring. But this is not a place to assert dominance and Gad drops his gaze and stance. "Hello, Dean."

Dean closes the door behind him and motions to the cleaning supplies in Gad's hand. "What exactly are you doing with that?"

Gad looks down at the can of Pledge in his hand. "I was going to dust the bookshelves."

"Do you know how to clean blood out of a carpet?"

What kind of question is that? "No, I don't. Did something happen?" His defensive stance comes back. "Did something happen to Cas?"

Dean breaks into a lopsided grin. "Good answer. Best one any of Sammy's clients have given me."

It is a test, just a test. Gad feels relief so strong it makes his stomach roil. "I'm...glad everyone is fine."

"You gonna stay out here," Dean saunters past him and hits him on the shoulder. "You gotta lighten up."

Gad wishes to tell Dean his jokes need a less lethal punchline but he is a guest and must behave as such.

"So did you finish the to do list Sam gave you?"

"Yes, I did."

"It's not even noon yet, wow. Well look, I have a rare day off and I like to spend that day cooking. Cas said you might interested in learning."

Gad's afraid it's another joke but he answers honestly. "I am."

"You know how to make a rub for ribs and smoke 'em?"

Gad shakes his head.

"Well, you'll know by the end of the day. Let's go!"

If Gad has any worries of Dean sticking him in a corner to learn by watching, they are quickly dispelled. As soon as they walk into the kitchen, Dean starts giving directions.

"Wash your hands first, I won't have you make my ribs smell like Pledge. Then fill up the sink with water and," he taps a bag of wood chips with his foot, "dump a bunch of those into the water."

Gad does as he's asked and puts the bag of unused wood chips back in the pantry at Dean's direction. When he turns around, Dean lays out a large rack of fresh ribs and that alone sets Gad's mouth watering.

"Number one rule when using a rub, you need to keep the meat moist so the rub will stick to it. Some people think you moisten it once and then you just smoke it for a few hours. Uh-uh. You have to keep moisten it and every time you moisten it, you need to add more rub." Dean hands Gad a spray bottle. "So spray them down."

He's about to ask what's in the bottle but when he sprays it, the tang of lemon and vinegar tickle his nose. He makes sure he covers every inch of the ribs but apparently takes too long because Dean takes the spray bottle from him and shoves a glass bowl of seasonings into his empty hand.

"What's-"

"Secret recipe," Dean tells him with a smile. "Get it on there. And remember, they call it rub for a reason."

The idea of touching uncooked meat seems a little disconcerting but he pushes that feeling away and gets to work. Surprisingly, Gad finds the task relaxing. The feel of the grit of the spices being pushed into the meat around the ribs. It's methodic and it's a process where he's creating something for all of them. He's helping. He's contributing. He turns over the ribs and does the other side without Dean having to tell him that next step. When he's finished, Dean inspects it and gives a satisfied nod.

Gad washes the rub off his fingers and dries off his hands. "What next?"

Dean drains the water out of the sink and pulls out a large stainless steel box with holes in the top. "Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"It's a smoker box. You put the chips in the box, close it up and put the ribs on top."

Dean steps back so Gad transfers the wet chips into the box himself. "How does this cook the ribs, exactly?"

"The heat of the grill causes the water in the chips to release smoke and steam. That cooks the meat. The kind of wood adds flavor too. I like the applewood chips. Hickory is good too."

Gad closes up the box and sets the rack of ribs on top. He follows Dean outside where the grill is already running.

"Put the box on the side of the grill that's not lit," Dean instructs. "You want them to cook low and slow."

Gad shuts the lid of the large grill with a sense of accomplishment. If this is how Dean intends to show his distrust of him and uses cooking lessons to keep an eye on him, Gad is more than willing to go along with it. He has to admit though, there had been no distrust or sense of uncomfortableness between them. There's no trust either, but that is to be expected. He turns to Dean with a slight smile. "I'm going to assume we're not going to eat just ribs for dinner."

Dean gives him an approving look. "How's coleslaw and black beans with a pico de gallo sound?"

* * *

By the time Sam had gotten home, Gad was already in his room with the light off. So he had eaten the plate of leftovers in the refrigerator and went to bed himself. As soon as he closes his eyes, someone starts pounding on the front door. Sam grabs his phone and finds that he has slept through the entire night and it's now seven thirty in the morning.

He hears Gad moving around and quickly launches himself out of bed. It wouldn't be the first time the media had come out to the farm and knowing Thaddeus and his lawyer, Sam wouldn't put it past them. By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, Gad already has the door open and voices are carrying up the stairs.

"Wow, Ruby wasn't exaggerating. Tall, blonde and confused."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of a few ways."

Sam pulls the door open and away from Gad's grasp. "Morning, Meg. To what do I owe the early morning wake up call?"

Meg smiles in her razor blade way. "Not going to introduce me to the fresh meat?"

"Meg Masters, Gad Sullivan. Why are you pounding down my door?"

"Interrupting something already? Sammy, you surprise me."

"Meg-"

"Horses are out of hay, Matlock. Someone forgot to pick up the order yesterday."

Sam bangs his head against the door. He is usually the one that handles the hay, Dean handles the grain. "Okay, I'll go get it this morning."

"You're gonna have to hay them too."

Sam waves his hand. "Will do. Have a nice day, Meg."

She gives a head to toe look at Gad. "You too."

Sam shuts the door with a loud slam and scrubs a hand over his face. "I need coffee."

He moves past Gad and makes a beeline for the coffee maker. He pulls out the basket only to find there's coffee already in it.

"I, uh, set up the coffee maker last night. You just have to turn it on, " Gad tells him.

"Oh, nice. Thanks." Sam puts the basket back and hits the on button. "Guess we're going on a hay run today. You up for that?"

Gad sits down at the small kitchen table. "Yes, of course."

"How did yesterday go with Dean?" Sam gives Gad a pointed look to tell him the truth. His client doesn't look any worse for wear but Gad is good at hiding his feelings. You don't survive that long of a prison sentence without a damn good poker face.

"It went quite well. "

"He didn't give you a hard time?"

Gad shook his head. "Not at all. He had me help make dinner."

So that explained why he had ribs, slaw and black beans with fresh pico de gallo. Dean had himself a sous chef. "He let you use knives?"

"Yes. That...surprised me."

It surprises Sam too but it's too early in the morning to think too much on the good fortune of his brother getting along with a client. "You enjoy cooking?"

"I did, very much."

"You know horses, how to run a barn and now are cooking with Dean. Once your case is over, we might not want you to leave."

Gad doesn't say anything in response but Sam can read the little smile that appears absently on his client's face that he's not exactly opposed to the idea himself. The coffee pot signaled it is ready and Sam poured two cups, handing one to Gad.

"We'll leave in an half hour for the hay, alright?"

"Alright."

He can tell Gad wants to ask how yesterday went, what Sam found out if anything. But politeness and knowing his place in the chain of command silence him so Sam offers up the information voluntarily. "I'll fill you in on what happened yesterday on the ride to pick up the hay."

"Thank you."

Sam takes his coffee upstairs and gets dressed for the day. He quickly reviews all his notes from yesterday so he would be able to consolidate the news for the twenty minute drive. Really it is just a stall tactic. He isn't sure how Gad is going to take Sam's meeting with Alex Sarver. He watches the clock and when the thirty minute time limit is up, he steps out of his room and goes downstairs to find Gad already standing by the door, ready to leave.

Without saying a word, he opens the door and hears Gad shut it behind them. Just like the other day, his client follows close and silently behind him. Meg's Jeep is still parked by the barn and Metallica is pouring out from the building. Sam goes around to the side of the barn where the red pick up truck is parked. He grabs the keys from under the mat, not minding at all that his client now knows there's a vehicle with keys available to him. He glances over at Gad as he starts the truck and the other man looks more relaxed than Sam has ever seen him.

"Getting used to the wide open spaces again?" Sam asks him as they pull out of the driveway.

That small, reminiscent smile appears again. "I am, yes. I've forgotten what it's like."

"What? The smell of horse manure and never ending hard work?"

"To be able to breathe again."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad to hear you're settling in, feeling more at home."

Gad rolls down his window and turns his face away from Sam.

Sam clears his throat after a few seconds of silence. "Naomi Angelson had nothing but good things to say about you. That's nothing short of a miracle right there. And Jo Harvelle wanted me to tell you 'hi' and she misses having you around the bar."

"Is she doing alright?"

"Yeah, she's doing great. I have a feeling Jo can handle herself pretty well."

"She could, yes."

Sam shifts in the driver's seat. "I, uh, I looked someone up that your Aunt told me about. Alex Sarver."

Gad stiffens slightly, his back going straighter than normal. "Did you find him?"

"I did. I actually spoke with him for awhile. He wants to come out to the farm and see you. He wants to help with the case if he can."

Gad seems to relax slightly. "Did you see his daughter?"

"Briefly. She stayed inside the house. Alex said strangers frighten her. But she might come out to the farm to see the horses."

That gets a surprised look out of Gad. "Really? That would be great."

"Why did you stop writing Alex? He seemed a little confused as to why your letters stopped."

Gad focus goes back to looking out the truck window. "He had a family that needed his attention more than me. He had a daughter who had been traumatized and a wife who needed his support. I didn't want to take any time from him or his family. They needed him more than I did."

Sam takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. "And what about you, Gad? Who has been there for you during your trial and imprisonment? Who supported you when you needed it?"

Gad continues to stare out of the window without answering until Sam pulls into the driveway of the farm where they are to pick up the hay order. He parks the truck by the barn but doesn't turn it off immediately and waits for Gad to look at him. It takes a couple minutes but his client finally faces him, warily and with suspicion.

"You have people, Gad. You have a support group around you now that are willing to help you. All you need to do is ask."

He nods once before getting out of the truck. Sam turns off the truck and gets out himself. He pays the barn manager for the hay while Gad and one of the farmhands load the back of the truck. It is the fastest hay pick up Sam has even been on since he started doing it. Less than thirty minutes later, they're climbing back in the truck and are on their way home. Halfway into the ride, Gad finally breaks the silence.

"I have a cousin, Nick that I grew up with. We were close, best friends."

"What happened?"

Gad doesn't seem to want to talk about this but he clenches his jaw and continues. "He started dating a girl the next town over. Her name was Lilith. She...didn't like my family. She wanted Nick all to herself. He...wanted the same. I didn't realize just how badly."

Sam grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. "Is Nick the one that you took the fall for with the robbery charge?"

Gad hangs his head. "I don't...know exactly. It could have been Nick. It could have been Lilith. They both held things over my head."

It looks like Sam is going to be making another call to Hester. Sam reaches over and grabs Gad's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you for telling me. We'll figure it out. I promise."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Road Trip

The Wichita Courthouse is a stereotypical federal building. Large, white stone made out of straight lines and giving it the appearance of a penitentiary. Much to Gad's dismay, the building hasn't changed at all in twenty years. The decor is different on the inside, updated but the smell is the same. The feeling is the same.

"You do remember that this is only the arraignment, right?" Sam asks him when it's just the two of them in the elevator. "You have one line, one thing to say."

Gad tries to smile but he feels it comes across as more of a grimace. "I know, I know."

"You look nervous, that's going to make you look guilty. You've done nothing wrong, act like it."

Gad has discovered in the last week and half there are two Sams: lawyer Sam and regular Sam. Regular Sam is relaxed, funny and a wonderful conversationalist. Lawyer Sam is hard, sharp and not someone that Gad would want to face off against. It is hard to imagine this man in a tailored suit with a gold rolex on his wrist and hard set to his green eyes had been sitting on the back porch of the farmhouse last night with a beer in his hand telling the story of how he and his brother had dressed up as superheroes when they were kids and jumped off the shed roof trying to fly.

"What did I tell you?" Sam asks when they step off the elevator and make their way to the courtroom.

"Look at the judge, not at Thaddeus and his lawyer. Only say 'not guilty' when prompted and that is all."

"Good. The judge is Howard Zachariah, he's an asshole but a relatively fair one if the facts get in front of him. Thaddeus is obnoxious according to Jody, ignore him completely. Marv Metatron is his lawyer. He likes to hear himself talk and he has some charm so expect a lot of verbiage from him. Ignore that too. Let me worry about it."

Gad nods and tugs at the sleeves of the borrowed suit jacket. He didn't have one so Sam kindly lent him one of his. Even though they are the same height, Gad is a little more broad shouldered than Sam. They wait outside the courtroom and Gad tries not to look at the people milling around him. He didn't get a good look at Thaddeus the night of the altercation so he wouldn't know his accuser if he walked right up to him.

A young woman steps outside the room. "Case number 59492, Thaddeus vs Sullivan."

Sam taps him on the arm. "It'll be okay. Today's easy."

Gad doesn't know if the courtroom is the same one that he had been tried and sentenced in but it is close enough. Sweat breaks out on the back of his neck and the palms of his hands. He had promised himself to never step foot in another courtroom again. He has more than learned his lesson and yet, here he stands at the defense table once again. His lungs seize and a cold sweat prickles the back of his neck.

"Breathe please," Sam whispers to him.

Like magic, his lungs listen and automatically fill with air. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the things that are different instead. His lawyer is far more competent and actually cares about his case. The judge is different he notes though he still looks bored out of his mind. He knows that Sam told him not to look at Thaddeus and his lawyer but he casts a side eyed glance over there out of curiosity.

Thaddeus is much shorter than Gad remembers. He has shaggy bleached blond hair and the all too familiar look of someone with authority who is used to getting his own way. The lawyer, Metatron, is not much taller than Thaddeus, middle aged and looks like he should be in a cabin in the woods with a typewriter composing a bestseller. Sam taps the top of Gad's foot with his own and Gad immediately drops his line of vision back to the highly varnished table top in front of him.

"Alright, let's get started," Judge Zachariah shouts over the din in the courtroom before bringing the gavel down with a sharp crack. "Mr. Sullivan, you have been charged with..." Zachariah frowns at the paper in front of him. "Mr. Metatron, am I reading this charge correctly? Battery against a police officer?"

"What?!" Sam exclaims.

Any fear that Gad had now turns into full blown panic. Battery against a police officer could land him in jail for another twenty years. The thought of returning to jail is too much and he feels panic starting to crawl up his spine. He feels a heavy pressure on top of his foot again and looks down to see Sam's shiny wingtip on top of his shoe. He focuses on the pressure, the weight. He's not alone. He's not defenseless. He closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths until the room stops spinning.

"Settle down, Mr. Winchester," Zachariah says before turning back to the plaintiff's side of the room. "It was my understanding that Mr. Thaddeus is a corrections officer."

"He is, your Honor," Metatron confirms. "Corrections officers are considered to be part of the peace corps and therefore-"

"Still miss the ranking of police officers. Your charge is too lofty. Would you care to revise it or would you rather I do it for you?"

"No, no, your Honor. We will change the plea down to aggravated battery."

Sam clears his throat. "Your Honor, aggravated battery means that the assault was committed with a deadly weapon. Mr. Sullivan wasn't armed with anything."

Metatron scoffs. "Apparently the defense needs to brush up on the law. Aggravated battery doesn't always have to include a deadly weapon. The first requirement for this charge is to cause great bodily harm to someone. My client suffered a severe enough head trauma to keep him out of his place of work for a week."

"A common treatment handed out for a concussion."

"Are you saying concussions aren't a serious matter, Mr. Winchester?" Zachariah asks.

Sam flashes a charming smile. "Absolutely not, your Honor. I am merely pointing out there is a discrepancy between a concussion and attacking someone with a gun or a knife."

Zachariah sat up straight in his chair. "I'm going to let you defend that position at the trial, Mr. Winchester. The charge is aggravated battery. Do you understand the charge?"

Sam nods. "Yes, your Honor."

"How does your client plead?"

Gad does everything Sam told him to do. He straightens his back but keeps his head lowered. Confident but submissive. "Not guilty, your Honor."

"Very well," Zachariah writes that down. "What does the prosecution say about bail?"

"Your Honor, this menace to society has been walking around free since the assault on my client. He has spent far too long out in the public. We request that he be denied bail and held in the local jail until the time of the trial."

"Mr. Winchester, is that true?"

"Mr. Sullivan has been staying with me under my supervision. When I'm not able to keep watch, my brother, who also lives on the same property and is a well respected member of the community, supervises my client."

Zachariah gives Gad a shrewd look. "And how has Mr. Sullivan's behavior been?"

"Exemplary, your Honor. He has helped with the routine functions of a working farm and proved to be willing and capable help."

Metatron laughs. "Since when does Mr. Winchester run a work release program? I don't believe I saw that in his credentials. It is Mr. Winchester's job to know the law, not provide character and psychological evaluations concerning his client."

Sam's jaw tightens and Gad taps his foot against Sam's this time. Metatron is an annoying piece of work but it won't do Sam any good to fight with him now. Gad doesn't know where the calmness comes from but he embraces it without question. And if it allows him to help Sam focus, all the better. Sam relaxes a bit and straightens his suit jacket before speaking again.

"Sheriff Mills was the investigating officer and she believed Mr. Sullivan to not be a threat to the general public. I have never seen a violent tendency from my client to this day."

"Mr. Sullivan has only spent two months out of jail, your Honor. He served twenty years, his full sentence. Two months later and here we are."

"The crime he supposedly committed was a theft, your Honor. No weapons, no confrontations and he has claimed his innocence of that crime for the entirety of his sentence."

"He beat my client unconscious!"

"Because your client apparently doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no' when said by a woman!"

The gavel comes down in two sharp cracks. "Save it for the trial, gentlemen. Bail is set at $20,000."

Gad's calmness evaporates immediately before the gavel comes down with a final sharp sound. He thinks about what he's going to have to live without until the trial. The corner of the couch that he claims for his nighttime reading. Dean's cooking lessons. The smell of hay and the Murphy's Oil that he uses to clean the tack. His own room...

Sam nudges his shoulder as he waves off the bailiff. "Bail's paid for."

The guard frowns. "How's that?"

Before Sam can answer him, someone hands a slip a paper to the bailiff. He looks at it nods and hands it back to the person. Gad turns around and is certain that he's passed out cold and dreaming. "Aunt Hester?"

"Hey, sweetie."

She looks only slightly older than he remembers. She had come to visit him in prison on Christmas ten years ago. He had been thankful to have some family with him but felt guilty for keeping her away from her family. He can barely believe she's there even when she reaches over the low banister and hugs him. She's wearing the same perfume that she wore that Christmas ten years ago and it's the closest to home and family that he's felt in years. He not even ashamed of the tears that he's shedding when he returns the embrace.

"Come on," Sam touches Gad on the arm, "let's get out of here and get something to eat. Give you two a chance to catch up."

* * *

It's the most that Sam has ever seen his client smile so much. Granted, the smiles were slight and barely noticeable, but there is a definitive change in Gad and it's a positive one. He hopes the good mood will last until that evening when he knocks on Gad's bedroom door. Gad still has that relaxed posture from the lack of stress and worry and the joy of being reunited with at least one family member who cares about him. Sam hopes that what he's about to say won't reverse the positive steps forward that Gad has taken today.

"I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep," Sam starts.

The wariness creeps back into the line of Gad's shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to let you know that I promised to give your Aunt a ride back to Blackwell tomorrow and we're leaving pretty early in the morning."

"She told me she had to leave tomorrow morning."

Gad leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. It's so natural, so relaxed. It strikes Sam that Gad is finally comfortable here, in this house and with him. And as he stands there trying to find his words, Gad continues to stare at him with sharp, curious green eyes and Sam realizes that he too is comfortable with Gad being there. It's that realization that makes Sam understand why it's so difficult to tell Gad that he's leaving for a few days. He doesn't want to leave this nice little arraignment that they have.

"Sam?"

Sam snaps out of his thoughts. "Yeah, uh, so I'm going to take her back and I think I'm going to stay in Blackwell for a few days. Talk to some people, look over the case notes that your Aunt has in a storage unit."

His brow furrowed. "A few days?"

"Yeah, just a few days."

Gad glances back at his room. "Where am I supposed to go while you're gone?"

So that's what has him worried, where he would stay while his supervisor is absent. Sam tries to push down the disappointment that Gad isn't upset about Sam going away to the same degree that Sam is.

"You stay here. Or up at the main house. Hell, you can go find your own place now if you want." Sam bites his tongue. That came out more harshly than he intended. "Look, you're out on bail now. You're technically free until the trial starts. You just can't cross state lines."

Gad nods his head and stares at his bare feet. "I...would prefer to stay here. If that is alright."

An odd little flutter accompanies the relief that Sam feels when he hears that. "You are more than welcome to do that. I told you, you could stay until the trial is over and I mean that."

"I know. Thank you."

Sam rubs the back of his neck. "I'll keep in touch, call you while I'm down there. I might need you to fill in some blanks and let me know who to talk to."

That worry line came back on Gad's face. "Just...be careful while you're down there. If you start asking questions about me and what happened, it's going to upset a lot of people. I don't know what happened to Nick and Lilith but they are not be taken lightly."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

Gad looks unconvinced but nods anyway.

"And you call me if anything happens while I'm gone. I wouldn't put it past Metatron to send out an investigator or the newspaper to wait for something that could be used against you."

"Understood."

"Good. Alright." Sam wishes his client a good night before heading to his room to pack. He spends the majority of the night writing down notes and reviewing what he knows already and what he needs to find out. He knows it's going to be a waste a time but he googles Chuck Shirley's name in a last ditch effort to try to find the man. He's surprised to stumble on a website that he hasn't seen before and clicks on the link.

It's brightly colored and garish in the design but it might be helpful. In bold black letters at the top is states "Help Us Find Chuck Shirley." There are tip lines listed as well as a sign up for the newsletter of updates on the search as well as a sign up for volunteers to help with the search. The woman who runs the website, a Becky Rosen, lives in a town not far from Blackwell. It's more than apparent that she has devoted the majority of her life to finding this man so if anyone would know where he is, it might be her. Sam writes down the address she gave in her contact information and adds Ponca City to his to do list.

By the time he has finished packing a bag and gathering his notes, the sun is coming up and it's time to leave. When he steps out of his bedroom, he can hear Gad and Hester talking downstairs. He finds them in the kitchen, sitting at the small table and heads bent together. Sam feels badly for interrupting this time Gad has with his aunt but there is no way he can drive her back to Blackwell and do some digging without coffee in his system.

"Did you sleep well, Hester?" Sam asks her.

"Yes. Your brother and his boyfriend are very accommodating."

Sam laughs. "Cas give you a choice of towels?"

"Three stacks. As well as a choice of pillows."

"That's Cas." It isn't often that family members of clients come to stay at the farm but when they do, Cas treats them like royalty. Most likely it's an effort to counter Dean's gruffness at having strange people walking around his house. Clients he got to know and grew comfortable around, their families not so much. The running joke between the three of them is whenever family members show up, Cas gets to live out his dream of having a bed and breakfast.

"Well, I better get my bag," Hester says as she gets up from the table. "I'll meet you outside by the car."

Sam waits until the door closes before turning to Gad. "I'm sorry she couldn't stay longer."

Gad smiles slightly. "She promised to come back to visit."

"That's good."

"I, uh, told her the truth about why I went to prison. I told her about Nick and Lilith."

Sam feels a surge of pride. "That's even better. You never told me what Lilith had on you."

The smile disappears immediately. "Lilith...had a reputation. She had many relationships with many men. She tried to make advances on me but I wasn't...interested."

There's something that Gad isn't saying and Sam is too tired from pulling an all nighter to try to figure it out himself. "What are you trying to say?"

Gad shifts in his chair, a blush heating his cheeks. "She came on to me and realized I wasn't aroused by it."

"She was the one who told Nick that you were gay."

"Yes."

"But that was what Nick was holding against you. What was Lilith holding against you?"

"She was going to say that I forced myself on her. When I pushed her away, her shirt tore. I saw she had bruises on her when it happened and she was going to say that I did it."

"Was Lilith involved in the theft?"

Gad shakes his head. "I don't know. She could have been. Or she could have been protecting Nick."

Sam fills a travel mug full of coffee. "Anything else I need to know before I leave?"

"No. That's everything." Gad stands and comes to stand next to Sam. "I just want to reiterate that you be careful while in Blackwell."

"I'm armed, Gad. This isn't my first rodeo." Though he has to admit, Gad is the first client to show such concern for his safety. "Thank you, though, for telling me everything. I know it wasn't easy for you."

"Thank you for caring. For helping me."

Sam blames it on the lack of sleep when he steps forward and hugs Gad. It's brief with the standard manly slaps on the back but it still expresses that yes, Sam cares. More than he should, if he's honest with himself.

"Alright," Sam steps back and heads to the front door, grabbing his bag along the way. "I'll call you later on today. Don't let Dean make you work too hard while I'm gone."

Gad smiles but it's half hearted. "I won't. Good-bye, Sam."

"Bye, Gad."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Lessons

If Gad is worried about what he would do while Sam is gone, he shouldn't have been. No sooner has Sam pulled out of the driveway than Cas is walking down from the main house. He's already dressed in paint splattered jeans, a t-shirt with a plaid button up over it. And he's bringing two thermoses with him.

"Morning, Gad," he greets with a wide smile.

"Good morning, Cas. Thank you for being so kind to my aunt."

"Of course. I love it when the family members come to visit. She'll come back, right?"

"I hope so. She said she would."

"Wonderful. Did Sam tell you to do anything while he was gone?"

"No, he didn't." Gad fights the urge to press a hand to his chest. It had been an odd feeling when Sam had hugged him in the kitchen. His aunt had embraced him many times during her brief stay but Sam is the first non-family member to touch him with any sort of kindness. Something as simple as what Sam did leaves a mark on someone like Gad. Suddenly the stretch of the few days without Sam seem that much more difficult to get through.

"Good," Cas says as he hands one of the thermoses to Gad, "I can use some help today on a job if you're up to it."

"I am. Will it be alright with your clients if I come?"

Cas gives him a lopsided grin. "I promise to not let them throw you to the wolves."

Gad locks up the house with the spare key that Sam gave him and he follows Cas to the black Jeep that has seen better days and climbs into the passenger side. Cas starts the vehicle but pauses before putting it into drive when Dean shouts out to them. Gad braces himself for the talk he's certain he's going to get from Dean. The typical keep your hands to yourself while you're with my boyfriend speech and Gad is already schooling his features to show complete submission to Dean's request. Surely they have to know he would never do anything to jeopardize his welcome here and that he would never want to interfere with anyone else's happiness.

Dean opens the back of the vehicle and drops something in it before coming around to the driver's side. "You forgot your lunch, Cas."

"Oh, lunch," Cas turns to Gad but Dean cuts him off.

"Packed extra for your helper."

"Thank you, Dean." Gad is still braced for Dean's admonition but instead, Sam's brother leans through the driver's side window and kisses Cas briefly on the lips.

"See you tonight," Dean says but there's a strong undertone of affection behind the words.

"Be safe today," Cas returns with the same affectionate tone.

Gad turns his head to give them as much privacy as possible and only directs his attention back to Cas when he hears the transmission be put into drive. "Thank you for asking me to come with you."

"Thank me at the end of the day. It's a kitchen remodel and they want the walls painted as well. But the wife's parents are coming in for the weekend and she really needs her kitchen by the end of the day. Are you familiar with any of those things?"

Gad nods. "Yes. I've installed kitchen cabinets into the barn's tack room. Plumbing renovations as well. I can help."

"Jack of all trades."

"Master of none," Gad finishes the turn of phrase with a slight smile. Whenever Dean is watching him, there's an edge of wariness still. He's polite, friendly even but there is still an undercurrent of distrust and he doesn't blame Dean for these feelings at all. But with Cas, five minutes into the drive and they're talking to each other like friends. It lessens the uneasiness of Sam's absence slightly.

They arrive at the home, the typical cookie cutter suburban house in a neatly manicured development. The wife greets them at the door, a baby on her hip and a nervous smile on her face.

"Oh good, you brought help!" she tries to extend the hand that isn't holding the baby to Gad only to find it's filled with a bottle and binky. "Sorry. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Gad smiles at her in appreciation for the warm welcome.

"Bess, this is Gad," Cas introduces. "He's Sam's current client."

Gad balks at Cas' flippant announcement and wonders if he will even be allowed in Bess' home to help Cas with the work. However, his fear is quickly cast aside.

"I figured it was him," Bess steps aside to let them into the house. "Garth heard from Dean at the firehouse that Sam had a new case."

Cas turns to Gad. "Garth is a volunteer firefighter when he's able. He and Bess run a wolf sanctuary a couple miles from here."

"If you're ever lacking in things to do, we could use an extra hand out at the sanctuary. If you like animals, that is. Wolves can sense it if you're afraid of them or just don't like them."

Gad nods. "I'm very fond of animals. I will keep your offer in mind."

"Hey, you're stealing my help," Cas accuses with a grin. "You want your kitchen or not?"

"Kitchen, yes! Please! I'm heading out to the sanctuary with the little one in a few minutes. Cas, you know where everything is, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Great. I'll leave you to it then."

Gad follows Cas into the kitchen where they set the toolboxes down. The floor had been laid down the previous day and the cabinets had all been ripped out. Cas tells him the new cabinets are in the basement so they carry them up to the kitchen. It takes the entire morning to get them mounted onto the wall and all the appliances moved back into place. Cas retrieves the cooler from his car and brings it back into the house, setting it on the newly installed breakfast bar.

"Think you can handle putting all the doors and hardware on the cabinets so I can do the painting?" Cas asks him as he hands him a sandwich.

"Of course."

Cas nods. "Your aunt seems very nice. Dean actually got up early to make breakfast for her."

"That is very kind of him to do that."

"So," Cas sits down on one of the stools and takes a bite of his sandwich. "Do you have any other family that might want to come pay a visit?"

Gad sits down across from him and stares down at his own food. "I doubt it."

"What happened to your parents?"

"My father died of a heart attacked six years into my sentence. My mother died of lung cancer fourteen years into my sentence."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"No. I was an only child."

Cas grins. "Lucky. I had a whole slew of brothers and sisters. We were all adopted though."

Gad is eager to get the focus off of him and his family. "You grew up in a foster home?"

Cas shakes his head. "No, it was a full fledged adoption for all of us. They were nice people if a little strange."

"How strange?"

"Well, for starters, they let us keep our last names but renamed us all after angels. My birth name was Jimmy but they changed it to Castiel. So I go by Cas which I think sounds a bit better than Jimmy."

Gad finally starts eating. "Does your family come out to the farm often?"

"They've never been out to the farm. I don't...talk to my family too much."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Cas shrugs. "They are very religious, hence the naming after angels theme. So my living openly with my boyfriend doesn't exactly endear me to them."

Gad swallows his food. He knows Cas is opening up to him and something encourages Gad to do the same. He has opened up to Sam and that had been nothing but positive. He hopes the same goes for Cas. "I...understand that situation."

"I thought you might." Cas answers. "Is that why you didn't go home when you were released?"

"Part of the reason. I am viewed as the family screw up. Once that reputation is established, it is hard to change. My sexuality of course didn't help matters."

Cas squints at him, as if weighing his words, before continuing the conversation. "My choice of significant other is only part of why my family doesn't speak to me. I was pretty close to one of my adoptive brothers. They called him Balthazar. He was very flamboyant, party goer and all around rabblerouser. Well, he drug me to this one kegger party next town over. Needless to say, we both got drunk and tried to drive ourselves home. Balthazar was behind the wheel when we plowed into a telephone pole at sixty miles per hour. He died on impact. I spent two months in the hospital in a coma."

"Why would your family blame you for his death?"

"I was the responsible one. I should have known better."

"But-"

"I know. Believe me, I know. I still feel guilty over it to be honest." Cas sits back. "However, that is the first time that I met Dean. He was one of the responders. I didn't know this until much later though."

"How did you find out about him being a responder?"

"It wasn't until a couple years later." Cas gets up and starts cleaning up their lunches. "I had just started my renovation company. One of my first jobs was for a woman who had a kitchen fire. I was coming to start the work when I ran into Dean at the house. He likes to check up on certain cases that leave an impression on him. This woman, Lisa, had a son and he wanted to make sure they were okay. We stood on Lisa's front porch for over an hour before he gave me his number."

Gad smiles warmly at the story. He would like to have a story like that one day but he highly doubts it's in the cards for him. Prison has inflicted damage on him, damage that he is certain there is no healing from. The idea of love and loving someone had been such a twisted notion behind bars. And sex, sex had been the currency to gain things like protection and the ability to go unnoticed. No, a relationship isn't an attainable thing for him but that doesn't mean he can't be happy for Dean and Cas.

"Look, Gad, I'm telling you all this to let you know, you're not alone. You're not the first person to screw up and have their family shun you for it. Surround yourself with people who will love you despite your faults. Or even because of them. That's your real family. Dean used to tell me that family doesn't end with blood. Sometimes, we get to choose our own family. So, keep that in mind, okay?"

Gad nods slowly. "I will. Thank you, Cas."

Cas lifts his soda bottle. "From one family screw up to another."

He mirrors the motion. "Indeed."

Gad goes back to work on finishing the cabinets and cleaning everything in the kitchen of the dust that he and Cas had kicked up. There's an excitement in his chest, a desire to go back home and tell Sam of this positive interaction between him and Cas, that he very well might have made a friend. But then he remembers he's returning to an empty house this evening. Sam will not be there and that takes the edge off the excitement of this new development. He can only comfort himself with the idea that Sam will be home in a few days and Gad can tell him then. It's not much of a comfort.

* * *

Sam doesn't know what town he is in now, if it's even a proper town. All he knows, he is somewhere in between Ponca City and Blackwell. The bar is exactly as Becky Rosen had described: a dilapidated trailer with no sign on the outside of the structure. Sam checks the gun that is sitting in the small of his back and makes sure it's easily accessible before stepping through the door of the bar.

Becky had been a bit flighty but she had a wealth of information on Shirely. Her dedication to finding the missing man is bordering on obsession but it certainly worked out to Sam's advantage. And in turn, hopefully to Gad's as well. Although he's not too sure about the kind of place she directed him. It very well could be a set up or just a red herring so he prepares himself for the worst.

The inside of the place is just as ramshackled as the outside. The lighting is dim and Sam makes his way slowly around the shadowed parameter. The clientele of the bar seems to immediately notice his presence, he can't imagine they see a lot of unfamiliar faces, but they show interest only. He's surprised that no one has made a territorial stand and hopes no one attempts it. He steps around up to the bar and approaches a hunched over, dark haired man.

"Chuck Shirley?"

The man puts his dirty tumbler down on the scuffed bar. "Sorry, you have the wrong guy."

Sam comes around the guy and sits down next to him. "No, I don't think I do."

He drinks half of the liquid in his glass before turning to look at Sam directly. "So which one of my disappointed clients are you now representing?"

"Gad Sullivan."

Chuck frowns and finishes the rest of his drink in one pull. "Out of all my clients, he's the one I actually felt guilty over losing his case."

"He was innocent."

"I know that." He orders another drink. "So what, you're retrying him or something? He suing me for my shitty defense job?"

Sam wants to pound his fist into Chuck Shirely's face. He knows a drunk when he sees one. And he knows there are various kinds: mean, funny, depressed. Chuck Shirely is a pathetic, selfish prick of a drunk and Sam doesn't have time to hold his hand to get his help on Gad's case. "It's a new case and you know I can't talk about it."

Chuck lifts his shoulders in a half hearted shrug. "Okay. So why are you here?"

"I need to know everything you do about his first trial. I don't want any surprises going into this trial."

"It was twenty years ago. I can't remember what I had for breakfast today."

"Oh, I can guess what you had for breakfast this morning," Sam snaps.

"Listen, hot shot," Chuck leans closer to Sam, "let it go. He barely talked to me. He was resigned to his sentence and I left it at that."

"But you knew he was innocent."

"You're young. You still think you can the save the world and dammit you're going to try, aren't you? Let me tell you something that you'll learn from experience. You can't save the ones who don't want to be saved. Gad Sullivan may have been innocent of stealing those electronics but he was carrying guilt about something else. And when you're in these parts, you don't dig around to find out exactly what it is."

Sam leans forward, ignoring the stench of liquor coming off of Chuck. "For someone who doesn't remember what he ate for breakfast, you sure remember a lot of details from Gad's case."

Chuck sits back on the stool and stares down into his drink. "A man goes away for twenty years for something he didn't do, you don't forget that."

"He's in trouble and he needs your help so he doesn't go away again. I need your files. I need any information you can give me about his case."

"His aunt has all the files, get them from her."

Sam grabs a fistful of Chuck's shirt, lifts him off the barstool and slams his back against the bar. "I need information from you directly. You let an innocent man serve an outrageous sentence, you little prick. It's not going to happen again." Sam lets go of him and watches as he stumbles to hold himself up against the bar. "You meet me at Eden Farms in Blackwell tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. And be sober."

Sam turns around and walks out of the bar before anyone can approach him. He highly doubts anyone is going to come to the rescue of a minorly manhandled washed up drunk and no one does. He's seething when he reaches his car and takes a moment to calm himself before getting behind the wheel. Even though it's spring and the days are getting warmer, the nights are still carrying that winter chill. The cold helps cool his temper but leaves him wondering why he lost his temper in the first place.

He had gotten passionate about cases before, certain clients left impressions with him like any other lawyer. Winning is always the goal, the result that he strives for in every single case that's handed to him. Why is this one so different? Determination to see his client go free is one thing, but this...this is different.

This is personal.

This isn't about the case. It's about his client. Everything he's doing, he's doing for Gad. And Sam isn't quite sure what to do with that realization.

"Word around town, you're interested in a bit of a local history."

Sam turns around to see a man leaning against the trunk of his car. He's average height, normal looking with the standard jeans and plaid shirt. Even though he appears relaxed and friendly, something tells Sam he is not what he seems. "And you are?"

He looks up at the sky and shrugs. "A historian."

Sam straightens up, firms up his footing. "You're Nick."

"And you're the nosy lawyer who's asking all the wrong questions."

"What kind of questions should I be asking?"

Nick rubs his hand over the side of his face and frowns. "None."

"Not likely."

"Oh, I think that's very likely."

Sam hears someone move behind him but he turns too late, a solid fist connecting with the side of his face. He's able to block a second blow but a third person joins into the fight. Something solid hits the back of his head and he finds himself on the ground, stunned and with ringing ears. He tries to get up but finds Nick has sauntered over and put his foot on Sam's sternum.

"I think it's time for the big shot lawyer to be taught a history lesson." Nick leans down, filling Sam's fading vision with his face. "You want to know what would have happened if Gad had told the truth? Well, you're about to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Home

Sam knows he's not conscious but he's certainly not dead either. If he is dead, heaven is a very, very disappointing place. In fact, it's exactly the same as the small, three bedroom house that he and Dean grew up in with their father. Wherever the house is, he has the freedom to move around and interact with his surroundings. He wanders through the house with its peeling wallpaper and stained carpet. A widower and his two sons obviously didn't care too much for housecleaning.

There's a Christmas tree in the living room, a string of the lights halfway up are out. Sam knows exactly what, or rather when, this takes place. He's home on Christmas break from his sophomore year at Stanford. He had woken up in the middle of the night and went into the kitchen to find his father, drunk and in a foul mood. He doesn't know exactly why he's been brought here, so Sam follows the path to the kitchen and turns on the light. Just as he suspected, his father is sitting at the kitchen table with an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Hey, Sammy," he slurs. "When'd you get here?"

"Dean picked me up at the airport yesterday, Dad." Sam reaches for the whiskey bottle but his father pulls it away from him. "I think you've had enough."

John Winchester waves him off. "It's Christmas time, Sammy. Cheers."

"Yeah, maybe later."

"I'm glad you're up. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Sam swallows. He remembers this conversation. He remembers how he sat across from his father and listened silently. He remembers making a promise that he had already broken back in his freshman year of college but he promises it anyway. Maybe that's why he finds himself back at this time, to this place. To not sit quietly and agree to broken promises. So he sits down.

"Yeah, Dad. What do you want to talk about?"

John cast a bleary eyed look towards the hallway. "I'm worried about your brother, Sammy."

"What about?"

"I, uh, I caught him...um...with a guy. I think I did, at least."

"What, like flirting? Making out?"

John points at him. "That."

"Okay. So?" And that had been the last thing Sam said that night. That isn't going to happen this time.

John gives him a shocked look. "You know your brother's...you know?"

"What, Dad? Gay? Bisexual? Yeah, I kind of did."

John makes a face. "It didn't even cross my mind that Dean would...go that way."

Sam shrugs. "So what's the problem?"

"Was it, I don't know, was it something that I did that made him like that?"

"No, Dad. Dean just loves who he loves. I think it's really that simple."

John finishes what is left in the bottle and scrubs a hand over his face. "I just never thought one of my sons would be like...that."

"You can't even bring yourself to say it, can you? What's so bad about having a gay son?"

"Having two."

John levels a strangely sober gaze on him and Sam refuses to bow to his father's prejudice this time around. He doesn't know if it's because he's been given a second chance to defend his brother or because Gad has gotten under his skin. He thinks of the things that Gad's parents had said to him, about him. How they wanted to "fix" him or cast blame on someone else. He can't help but wonder if Dean had to face some of the same things that Gad had. Well, not this time. For all the Dean's and Gad's in the world, Sam sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Shitty Christmas for you then."

John's face falls. "Not you too."

"I don't know actually, Dad. It's possible."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Remember my roommate from freshman year, Brady?"

"Oh God. I don't what to know this."

"No, but I bet if I wanted to tell you all about this girl Brady introduced me to, Jess, you would want to hear all about that. Because it's 'normal.' Well, guess what Dad, I would rather love a person for who they are instead of what gender they are."

"What about your mother-"

"What about her? From what I know of her, from what you and Dean have told me about her, she would want us to be happy. Why don't you want the same thing for us?"

A high pitched noise breaks into the dream and Sam clutches his head in the assault of the noise. The noise fades but it's replaced by more noises, beeps and voices. Light flashes around him but he can't seem to open his eyes far enough for them to focus. There's something stuck in his throat and his lungs seize at the obstruction. He tries to find out what it is and his hand closes around a tube. He tries to pull it out but someone grabs his hand and holds it instead.

"Hey, Sammy, hang on there, buddy."

It's Dean. That calms him somewhat but he still can't breathe properly.

"Nurse is here, Sam. She's going to get rid of the tube, okay?"

He feels the nurse pull on the tube and it slides out of his mouth easily enough but it leaves his throat raw. He swallows down massive gulps of air regardless of the pain. He tries again to open his eyes and he manages to get one open, seeing his brother standing by his hospital bed.

"You...look like...shit."

Dean laughs shortly, tears glassing his eyes. "I'll get you a mirror, buddy. You win the looking-like-shit-contest, trust me."

"What happened?"

The nurse touches his shoulder and he has to turn his head to see her. "What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Winchester?"

He thinks back, trying to see what his last memory is. "I went to a bar in the middle of nowhere, Chuck Shirely was there. I went outside and...a group of guys attacked me."

"Do you know who they were?"

Sam closes his good eye. "One of them, yeah."

"I'll call the police for you when you feel ready to give a statement, okay?"

"Yeah, do that now, please."

"Okay," nurse touches his shoulder, "but first I'm going to get your doctor."

Sam waits until the nurse leaves before looking over at Dean. "How long have I been here?"

"In the hospital? A day." Dean scuffs the floor with his boot. "You've been missing for two. Some kid on a bike found you in the middle of a field off a dirt road."

"What's the damage?"

"Some hairline fractures in your right leg and ankle. Broken ribs, collarbone, nose and two hell of shiners. No internal bleeding or brain swelling. Concussion, of course."

Sam tries to sit up on his own but with the IVs, bandages and leg brace, it's a losing battle. "So when can I get out of here?"

"As soon as I tell you," a woman's voice answers.

Sam turns his head until his doctor comes into view. She's not very tall, thin with large eyes and softly curled blonde hair. Even with one good eye, Sam can read the name L. Jacobson. "My doctor I assume?"

"Glad to see the hit to your head didn't completely rattle you. I'm Dr. Jacobson."

He tries to quell the suspicious lawyer side of him and for the moment ignores the fact that she didn't use her first name. "When can I get discharged and go home?"

"Mr. Winchester, you spent at least twenty-four hours in the elements unconscious. We're not letting you go until we're certain you are on the road to recovery. First things first, I want to send you down for a CT scan of your brain to make sure there isn't any swelling or bruising now that you're conscious. I also would like to do more x-rays to make sure we're not missing any more fractures. Your electrolyte count is down as well and we need to keep you on the IV until they're up again. You're looking at a few more days here."

Sam knew a losing battle when he saw one. "I would like to speak to a police officer as soon as possible. I need to make a statement."

Her smile seemed to become strained at the corners. "I'll make that call after your CT scan. With head trauma, sometimes the statement you give as soon as you wake up isn't necessarily the most accurate. I would suggest waiting until tomorrow to give your statement."

Sam glances over at Dean and sees that it's not just his lawyer disposition that's making him suspicious. "Just out of curiosity, what does the 'L' stand for in your name?"

Her large, dark eyes briefly contract around the edges. "Lily. I'll go set up that CT scan for you."

No sooner does she disappear through the door then Dean clears his throat. "Yeah, there wasn't any deception in those answers."

"I need to write down my statement right now. Have you sign it as a witness. I know exactly who did this and I have a feeling it's going to get shoved under the carpet."

Dean pulls out a small notebook from his pocket, a habit from being a firefighter and needing to write down details of a fire for insurance companies. "Alright. Give me the name."

"Nick. Don't know the last name yet. Might be Sullivan."

"What, like related to Gad?"

"Cousin."

Dean nods and writes down the name. "He the one Gad took the fall for?"

"Yup."

The nurse comes back and Dean tucks the notebook back into his shirt pocket. She checks his IV bag and records his vitals. Sam tries to give her his best smile but he's not sure how it looks with his face swollen and bruised. "The doctor is really nice. How long as Lily been here?"

"Oh, you mean Lilith," the nurse provides with a smile. "She's been here at the hospital for close to ten years. She started as a resident and just worked her way up."

Dean puts on his most charming smile. "She single?"

Nurse laughs and wags her finger at Dean. "No, she is not. Married her childhood sweetheart. He's a detective in Oklahoma City but they lend him out to the small towns around here since he grew up in these parts and knows everyone. He might end up being the one you talk to you about who did this. His name is Nick Jacobson and he's really nice."

Sam thanks the nurse and as soon as she leaves, starts unhooking himself from the IVs and machines. Dean doesn't even ask but helps him sit on the side of the bed.

"We can't get you out of here in a hospital gown," Dean pulls some clothes out of a bag he had brought with him.

Sam lets his brother dress him as best he can. They're able to put the leg brace over his jeans and end up draping an open plaid shirt over his shoulders to accommodate the arm sling. Dean steps out of the room and comes back with a wheelchair. They cover Sam's legs with a blanket.

"If anyone asks we're going down for the CT scan," Dean tells him as he loops the bag he brought with him across his chest.

Sam's head is light and his stomach roils dangerously. Dean is more efficient than smooth but he manages to get them to the black Impala and the cool air calms Sam's nausea somewhat. He never thought he would love sitting in his brother's car as much as he does right now. He reclines the seat and shifts around until he finds a semi-comfortable position while Dean ditches the wheelchair. He's only gone for a few seconds before slipping into the driver's seat and starting the car.

"Well," Dean says as they pull out of the parking lot. "at least we have a last name for Nick."

"And he's a damn cop. This just keeps getting better and better. I need a break somewhere."

"Where to, little brother? You want to go home?"

God, he wants to go home so badly. He can only imagine what a state Gad is in at the moment. But he still needs answers. He still needs the files. But he also needs to sleep. "Hotel for now. I'll gather up what I need tomorrow and we'll leave if that's okay."

"Fine by me," Dean hands Sam his cell phone. "Give Cas a call and let him know the plan. He'll stop his worrying if he hears from you directly."

Sam turns the phone over his hand. "How's Gad?"

Dean gives him a wry grin. "Call Cas."

Sam does as he's told and isn't surprised when Cas picks up on the second ring.

"Dean?"

"No, uh, actually it's Sam."

Cas huffs a sigh of relief into the phone. "Oh, thank God. Wait, you don't sound like you're in the hospital. I hear the Impala's engine. Why are you in the Impala, Sam?"

Sam laughs but his face is hurting and it cuts it off abruptly. "I made a break for it. Apparently this goes a lot deeper than I thought."

"You're coming home then? That's good."

"I still have to talk to some people and pick up the files. We'll be back tomorrow." Sam does manage to smile. "You miss Dean that much?"

Cas laughs. "Actually I was thinking more about your client."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Oh nothing. He's just worried sick over you, feeling copious amounts of guilt but it's working out to my benefit. Instead of sleeping, he stays up all night cooking."

"Cooking?"

Dean's head whips around. "He better stay out of my cookbooks."

"He got into Dean's cookbooks. I had veal parmesan for lunch yesterday." Cas sighs. "I don't think he's eating anything though. Certainly not sleeping. I think...the sooner you come home the better. Guilt, especially misplaced guilt, is a terrible enemy."

It certainly doesn't make Sam feel good that Gad is distraught at this turn of events but it does touch him in a way he didn't expect knowing that his client cares this much about his welfare. "Is he there, Cas?"

"Yeah, he's in the kitchen. Hang on." Cas is quiet as he makes his way to the kitchen but then speaks up when he gets there. "Oh, he's in the middle of making jambalaya, I think you'll have to talk to him later."

"Honestly, is food the only thing you think about?"

"Not the only thing. Just with your brother I get the best of both worlds."

Sam groans good naturedly. "I did not need to hear that."

"We'll see you tomorrow. Here you go."

Sam hears the phone being handed over to Gad.

"Hello?"

Sam's voice stutters, a tangled ball of emotions choking out his words. He clears his throat, trying to speak past them. "Hey, Gad. It's Sam."

There's a pause so long on the other end that Sam wonders if the call has been disconnected. But Gad finally starts to speak.

"Sam, I'm so-"

"I know. Look, you warned me and I came down here anyway. This is not your fault." Sam waits for some response and doesn't get one. "Gad? You hear me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good. Now, has anything happened up there that I need to hear about?" Honestly, Sam doesn't care if a tornado had ripped through the farm. He just wants to hear Gad's voice, know that he's doing alright and he realizes just how off track this entire case has become. He liked Gad the moment he met, liked him as a person. That turned into admiration when he finally pulled the entire story out of him. To go through what Gad had and not come out of it bitter, vengeful and mean spirited is a miracle. It is hard not to appreciate that in another human being.

"No, nothing significant at least. No media. No one snooping around. Cas has been taking me on a couple jobs."

Sam can hear the weariness, the frayed and torn edges, in the normally smooth cadence of Gad's voice. He closes his eyes and remembers the one afternoon where a cold spring rain had kept them inside that day. Gad had fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of reading and Sam had come downstairs from doing research to find his six foot four client curled into a fetal position due to the chill in the air. So Sam made a fire in the cast iron potbellied stove and sat down to read himself. But he actually ended up watching the other man uncurl himself as heat filled the room until his long legs were hanging off the end of couch. He wishes for that now.

"Good," Sam clears his throat, unsure how long he had been caught up in the memory. "That's good. Make sure you get some rest though. Take care of yourself."

"I...will try." There's another long pause. "When...when are you coming back?"

Sam can't help but smile. If he hadn't just spent the last two weeks with this man he would have missed the silent plea in the simple question. "Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow. But, uh, I'm going to have to stay at the main house for a few weeks. I can't manage steps at the moment."

"I will tell Cas and we will make the proper accommodations."

"In order to do that, you're going to have to go into my office and gather up my files. It's a mess in there so, go with God. But you're my only client at the moment so don't worry about confidentiality. It's all your stuff. But I'm going to need it at the main house."

"I understand."

"Good. I'll uh, see you tomorrow then."

"Please, be careful."

"I have big brother watching me now. I'll be fine."

"Alright. We will see you tomorrow then."

Sam turns off the phone and places it on the console.

"Yeah, you're not too invested in this at all," Dean comments as he pulls into a roadside motel.

"Dean-"

"Surprised you didn't tell him you loved him."

"Seriously?"

"Hey," Dean grins wryly, "you gave me such hell when Cas and I started going out. Now it's pay back."

"He's a client." Sam feels the ashy taste of the lie on his tongue before he even speaks it.

Dean nods. "For now. You need sleep. Let's get checked in and you settled."

Sam nods and rests his head against the cool glass while Dean goes into the office to get a room. He's half asleep by the time Dean comes back with a room key. Thankfully there's a parking space directly in front of the room and it's a short distance from the car to the bed in the room. Dean takes all the pillows he can find around the room and props Sam up with them.

"Alright," Dean pulls out his own handgun and puts it on the bedside table. "I'll go grab a bag of the greasiest food I can find and bring it back. You going to be okay?"

"Sure. I'll make a couple calls while you're gone. Set up a meeting time with Hester and bring her up to speed. If you can find some painkillers while you're out, that would be great. I don't even care if they're legal at this point."

"I'll see what I can do." Dean reaches into the bag that he had with him at the hospital and pulls out Sam's laptop and phone.

Sam picks up his phone and turns it on, finding multiple missed calls and text messages. Quite a few of them are from the burn phone he gave Gad but also from Dean and Cas as well. There is one text message though that came in last night and Sam selects that to read. He can't believe what he's reading and lets out a laugh.

"Unbelieveable."

"What?" Dean asks, standing by the door.

Sam reads the message over again before turning the phone off. "Alex Sarver texted me. He found Anna Milton."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Homecoming

He is told not to apologize so Gad doesn't. Instead, he throws himself into getting the room that Cas designates as Sam's recovery room in the main house ready. Cas takes pity on him and helps with the borderline manic cleaning job. He even helps Gad not just gather up the files in Sam's office but move the entire desk into the room. Even if Sam didn't blame him for the state of his injuries, Gad still feels the weight of the guilt.

So he falls back into what feels like old habits. He cleans, organizes and makes everything as perfect as he can. Cas keeps up with him until lunch and disappears, most likely to sleep a couple hours before Dean and Sam return home. After the room is as prepared as possible, Gad goes to the kitchen and starts on dinner. He figures the first meal that Dean taught him to make would be an acceptable homecoming dinner. He hopes it will be enough of a penitent action to earn him some grace.

By the time the engine of the Impala can be heard in the driveway, the ribs are smoked and the coleslaw, black beans and pico de gallo are done. He even managed to pull together a pan of cornbread. Cas appears in the kitchen as suddenly as he had disappeared. He's almost through the kitchen and in mudroom before he shouts out to Gad.

"The room next to Sam's is yours."

Gad jogs to keep up with Cas, catching up with him outside. "What?"

"Well," Cas makes random motions with his hand, "I just figured...you know...hey, look who's back!"

Gad pushes the suspicious explanation out of his mind as he steps around Dean and Cas to the passenger side of the car. Sam has pushed the door open himself but that is as far as he's moved. Gad wonders if he's even aware of how badly he looks with two black eyes, one still swollen shut, his arm in a sling and a brace on his leg. The crushing weight of guilt lands on Gad's chest to the point that he can't draw a full breath.

"Don't stare, it's rude," Sam tells him with a slight smile. "I have crutches in the back, can you get them since my brother has forgotten all about me in lieu of having a welcome back make out session with his boyfriend?"

Gad lurches into motion and pulls the crutches out of the back of the Impala and helps Sam out of the car. Words fail him completely. Sam had scolded him for apologizing so he avoids that phrase completely. Thank you seems so trite and doesn't even encompass the gist of how he truly feels. There really is only thing that he can say and he hopes that Sam can read between the lines as he had in the past.

"I'm glad you're home, Sam."

"Me too."

Gad turns away to hide his relief and retrieves Sam's overnight and laptop bag from the back seat. By the time he closes the car door, Dean and Cas are helping Sam up the few steps and into the house. He follows behind them silently and remains as invisible as possible. It's relatively easy to hang back and stay quiet as Cas is more chatty than normal. The only interaction that Gad really has is when Dean gives him a thumbs up over a stack of clean rib bones.

Cas ends up helping Gad with the dishes while Dean helps Sam get settled in his temporary room. It doesn't take them long to finish the task since they had been doing it for the last few days and had the routine down. As soon as the last dish is put away, Cas excuses himself and heads up the stairs. Gad paces around the kitchen a few times before mustering up enough courage to walk down the hallway where his new room is now located. He's almost familiar with where the creaky floorboards are and manages to maneuver around them.

He opens the door and peers into the room. There's a single bed pushed against the far wall with a quilt similar to the one in his room at Sam's. Gad can smell the fresh scent of laundry detergent which means Cas just made up the bed for him. The pile of books that had taken up residence next to his bed have been relocated to the bedside table here. And his clothes had been carried over and put in the closet already. If he had any doubts of Cas' acceptance, they have completely disappeared by now. He sits down on the edge of the bed and the springs in the mattress creak loudly.

"Gad?" Sam's voice carries through the wall easily.

Gad had hoped that Sam would be resting, sound asleep for the rest of the night. He isn't sure he can face his lawyer right now. That is the problem, one that had arisen from the moment he had heard Sam was missing and injured. It forced Gad to realize that somewhere along the way Sam had stopped being his lawyer and became his friend. Something even a bit more than friend if he thought about it long enough, which he tried not to for the sake of his heart rate going through the roof. He is grossly underprepared for these kind of feelings and shoves them aside each time they arise. He is too broken, too scarred.

So he closes his eyes and hefts himself to his may need help with something, he might need something from kitchen or from his house. No matter what dilema Gad is having, Sam is more important. Gad pushes down his own emotions and stands just inside the doorway of the room next door.

"Hey," Sam greets from his propped up position on the bed. "I didn't get to talk to you much at dinner. Cas gets chatty when Dean's been away for a few days."

Gad nods. "He cares for your brother very much. He missed him greatly."

Sam's smile falters slightly. "Yeah, I'm sure he did. But, uh, how about you?"

"I don't believe I missed your brother as much as Cas did."

Sam lets out a startled laugh. "Not what I meant, sorry. How are you doing?"

"I am fine."

"Are you?"

Gad narrows his eyes. "I don't understand what it is you're asking."

"Sorry," Sam rubs his forehead. "Painkillers are making things fuzzy. Pull up the chair though."

This is not going well at all. Maybe Cas told Sam about Gad's behavior while he was missing. The sleepless nights, the anxiety. Maybe Sam has been made aware of these more than friends type feelings Gad has begun to feel. It's unprofessional to say the least, unacceptable at worst. Gad doesn't want a new lawyer so whatever Sam has to say, he will agree to and ignore these feelings completely. He would rather have Sam's friendship when this is all said and done then not have Sam at all. He steps into the room and takes the chair from the desk, sitting it beside the bed. "If you would prefer to wait until tomorrow, we can discuss things then."

"I actually have someone coming out tomorrow to discuss the case and I wanted to give you the chance of being here or not. I would go to him but that's not possible now."

This is certainly not the direction Gad anticipates the discussion to go. "Who is it?"

Sam takes a deep breath. "Alexander Sarver. "

Gad doesn't know how to react to that name anymore. He had counted Sarver as an acquaintance, someone who had been in need of help. Gad had given him that help and then left him alone so he could be with his family and live in peace. He had hoped that is exactly what happened."Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you bring him into this? He has a family, a daughter-"

"I know," Sam raised his hand in a placating motion. "I know. I went to talk to him about you, he offered to help to me."

Gad presses his lips together in a tight line. "I wish you didn't do that."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "You do realize that this is a good thing. We have someone who is willing to help us, and has by the way."

"How?"

"He found Anna Milton. Or has an address for her at least."

"Is she willing to testify?"

"We don't know yet. I'm still trying to come up with a plan on how to approach her. Alex might know more than what he's told me which could explain his visit tomorrow."

"Is he bringing his family?"

"His daughter, I believe. She wants to see the horses. Maybe ride one if possible. So look, if you want to stick around tomorrow and see them, you can. If you don't, I'll send you out on an errand or trail ride or whatever it is you want to do. But I have to ask, why don't you want to see him?"

Gad shifts in his chair. "It's not that I don't wish to see him. I don't wish to see him hurt because of me."

Sam stares at him for a few minutes, long enough for it to become uncomfortable, before he looks away. "I get it. I do. You think you run around and protect everyone and take the brunt of it so they won't have to. I get that more than you think I do. You see, my mother died in a house fire when I was just a baby. My dad handed me off to Dean, who was four, and told him to get outside while he tried to save our mother. Every since he's been able to, Dean's been pulling people out of fires since. It's not going to bring our mother back but it could save some other little boy from the same loss we truth of the matter is this, you can't save everyone. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, someone is going to get hurt. But this is what you have to remember and I really need you to hear this: it is not your fault."

Gad nods, more out of respect for Sam than any kind of agreement. And dammit, Sam sees through it immediately.

"Let's just say Dean comes home one day and tells us that there was a fire, that someone didn't make it out alive. What would you say if I stood up and told Dean it was his fault that person died? He's the firefighter, he's the protector and he didn't do it. What would you do?"

Gad waffles on his answer so Sam continues.

"I would hope you would knock me on my ass for saying something like that. And before you sit there and tell me that what Dean does and what you did for Alex Sarver is different, think about it for a minute. You knew what those inmates would have done to him. He knew what those inmates would have done too. He knows your intervention saved his life so he could go back to his wife and daughter. And now he wants to help you. So let him. Let the people you protected stand up and protect you now."

There's a part of Gad that knows Sam is speaking truth. There's another part that is almost certain it is being spoken out of care and concern for him. So he nods in silent agreement.

"Can you please speak up for the jury's sake?"

Gad looks up and sees the hint of a smile in the corner of Sam's mouth. If he speaks his agreement out loud he will need to abide by it. His fingers grip his knee and he squeezes, focusing on the pressure. "Alright. I...will let other people help me."

"I believe I have just witnessed a miracle."

A short laugh escapes from Gad. "Nothing short of, I can assure you of that. If that is all, I should let you rest."

"Yeah, you look like you need to get some sleep too."

Gad stands up and puts the chair back under the desk before heading to the door.

"Hey, Gad, one more thing."

"Yes?"

Sam's fingers are twisting the blanket. "I, uh, I missed you...these few days. You know, I missed you more than I missed Cas."

A warmth he hasn't felt in years erupts in his chest and he tries to keep his face schooled but knows he is failing miserably. "I missed you too, Sam, more than I missed Dean."

Gad closes the door and a soft click and wonders how in the world he's supposed to sleep now.

* * *

Sam frets most of the night and sleeps restlessly. Did he say too much to Gad? Did he say too little? His mind is already jumbled up with his emotions and the medications are not providing any sort of clarity. He is no closer to sorting these things out when dawn breaks. He hears Gad, always up with the sun, moving around in his room. Sam listens for Gad's door to close and then a few minutes later he can hear the back door do the same. Only then does Sam finally get up and hobble his way through his morning routine.

By the time Gad comes back into the kitchen, Sam is on his second cup of coffee and has scribbled on half a page of paper notes that even he doesn't understand. He feels like a teenager again, crushing on someone and wondering if they know or if they don't. While it's not against the law to be romantically involved with a client, it is frowned upon. Even Sam has to admit it's not exactly professional. And it is entirely possible that Gad thinks of him as only a friend. He is used to wielding words like weapons, both offensive and defensive. But his arsenal has run completely dry at the sight of his client in jeans and a black thermal shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Gad pours himself a cup of coffee. "What time is Alex Sarver coming today?"

Sam has to clear his throat for words to pass through his vocal cords. "Uh, around ten, I believe."

Gad smiles and goes to the refrigerator, pulling out a plate of cinnamon buns and setting them on the counter before turning on the oven.

"Tell me you did not make those yourself."

"Okay."

"Seriously? You made those?"

Gad ducks his head. "I...had a lot of time on my hands."

Sam laughs. "You're going to give Dean a run for a his money in the kitchen."

"Your brother deserves the credit when it comes to my culinary skills."

"Yeah, don't tell him that. He's got a big enough ego."

Gad nods once but doesn't say anything else. Sam ends up making more scribbles and fidgeting until Gad puts the cinnamon buns in the oven and sits at the kitchen table with him. Sam tries to come up with something to say but Gad beats him to it.

"Sam, about what I said last night..."

And here it comes. Any version of "I didn't mean for it sound like that" or "Is it really appropriate for us." Sam caps the pen he is twirling and holds his breath. However, what Gad is about to say is cut off when Dean shuffles into the kitchen and glares at the oven.

"Cinnamon buns?"

And never before has Sam wished to beat his brother senseless as much as he does right now.

"Yes," Gad answers.

"You make 'em?"

"Yes."

"Which cookbook did you use?"

Gad gives Sam a nervous look. "The spiral notebook."

Sam may never get a chance to hear Gad finish his thoughts about what he said last night. The spiral notebook was their mother's catch all recipe book. That notebook is more than sacred to Dean.

Dean points a finger at Gad and narrows his eyes. "You're lucky I haven't had my coffee yet."

It's obvious that whatever Gad was about to say is no longer able to be voiced. It doesn't take long for Cas to join them and the chatter, mostly around Alex Sarver's visit, fills the kitchen until the man himself arrives. Sam is surprised when Gad stands up and goes to the front door. It's probably for the best though, allow the two friends to catch up without prying eyes.

During the time that the three of them are sitting silently and staring into their cups of coffee, the timer on the oven goes off. Dean pushes himself to his feet and turns it off, pulling the cinnamon buns out of the oven. Dean silently dishes up the sweets for the three of them, leaving a stack of three plates on the counter. Sam wonders just how non-cognizant his brother really is in the morning.

It's almost twenty minutes until footsteps make their way back to the kitchen and Sam sees Alex peering around the corner of the kitchen doorway. Sam waves him into the kitchen as Dean and Cas stand up to leave. Sam introduces Dean and Cas to Alex and after the obligatory handshakes and pleasantries, Alex and Sam are left alone in the kitchen.

"Gad wasn't kidding," Alex says to him, "you look terrible."

"I have looked better, yes. Did your daughter come with you?"

"Yes, she did. She really wanted to see the horses and Gad was afraid that your appearance would frighten her. I'm afraid he might be right."

Did he really look that bad? "I completely understand." Sam frowns. "But wait a minute, when I came to your house, your daughter wouldn't even wave at me. She just went off with Gad?"

Alex smiles and nods. "She sure did. No fear at all." He glances out the window over the sink. "I'll be damned."

Sam stands up and leans on the table so he can follow Alex's line of vision. Gad is unmistakable in his size and gait as he meanders his way towards the barn. Delilah looks like a little doll skipping along beside him. Without any hesitation or fear, she moves right beside him and slips her little hand into Gad's overly large one. The size difference is so significant that really all she can wrap her fingers around is his thumb.

Alex is almost in tears and Sam reaches over, laying a hand on the father's shoulder. He watches the two of them until they disappear into the barn. Any doubts that Sam may have had concerning his feelings for his client come into sharp focus. He will do and be anything he needs to be for Gad's sake. If it's lawyer and friend, so be it. If it's something more, he is willing to fill that role as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: First Steps**

_Say something, I'm giving up on you_

_And I am feeling so small_

_It was over my __head_

_I know nothing at all_

_And I will stumble and __fall_

_I'm still learning to love_

_Just __starting_ _to crawl_

_Say something, I'm giving up on you_

Gad sits on a hay bale in the barn, passing pieces of carrots to the horse in the stall behind him. He hadn't been sure how the day was going to go but it could have gone worse. Delilah had been completely unafraid of him, asking him to pick her up to pet the horses and run brushes over their glossy coats. She had smiled, laughed and then fell asleep against his shoulder. She didn't even wake up when he put her in the back seat of Alex's car.

He hadn't expected such acceptance from the little girl. He hadn't expected the warm welcome from Alex either. It left him oddly out of sorts. He had heard about the adjustments that ex-cons had to make when they went back into their lives. He never thought he would though because he never thought of himself as a convict. He had been innocent. He hadn't committed a crime. He may not have broken any law but prison had changed him deeply and distastefully.

Solitude brings peace to him now. Breathing is easier in the wide open spaces. The lack of noise doesn't bother him anymore. Interacting with people however is something he is struggling with now. It's easier with Sam, Dean and Cas. He knows his place in the order of things on the farm and in their family unit. But with people like Alex, Delilah, even Ruby and Meg, he feels unsure of what to say and how to act. He doesn't know what they expect and therefore he can't meet their expectations.

The sun starts to change the color of the barn aisle to the bright orange of a sunset. He snaps off another piece of carrot and lifts it above his head where the soft muzzle of the horse brushes his hand before claiming the treat. He knows he'll have to go up to the main house soon but he's just not quite ready yet. He passes off the last of the carrot and leans his head back against the stall wall, closing his eyes. He listens to the sounds of the barn, the horses moving in their stalls, the wind blowing through the aisle...the sound of someone with a crutch making his way down to the barn.

Gad stands up as Sam makes his way into the barn. He hobbles stubbornly over to the trunk across from the hay bale Gad had been sitting on a few seconds ago. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his face and his breathing is labored. Gad returns to his sitting position as Sam lets out a breathless laugh.

"I didn't realize it was going to be that long of a walk."

"The truck is parked next to the barn. I can drive you back up to the house."

Sam frowns. "Don't you dare. I'm not afraid of sweating. Gives me a decent reason to take a shower at the end of the day. I just need to catch my breath."

Gad sits back again, his hands instinctively going to his knees. Normally he is happy to have Sam seek him out but now it only makes him nervous. There is still an apology on the tip of his tongue and he keeps swallowing it down. It's getting harder and harder to keep it unspoken.

"It was a good day today, yeah?" Sam asks him, grinning as much as he can with two black eyes. "You made a friend at least."

"Yes. It was a good day."

"Alex figured it would be best to have Sheriff Mills contact Anna Milton. We don't want me scaring her away. Alex said he's working on something else but wouldn't tell me what it is. Did he say anything to you when he came down here?"

Gad shakes his head. "Not a word."

Sam rests his head on the stall behind him and closes his eyes. The bruises still stand out on his face but the swelling is going down. "Ah well. Maybe next time he comes out he'll tell us."

"Next time?"

"Yeah. Delilah loves horses, does her a lot good apparently. And I may or may not have promised to get her a pony if Alex managed to find Anna for me."

"Get her a pony?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm a man of my word."

Once again Gad is struck with just how deep this man's generosity runs. The more he learns about Sam, the more he realizes the differences between them. Sam has as many virtues as Gad has cracks. Sam's kindness, mercy and righteousness runs just as deep as Gad's faults and brokenness. He is foolish to even entertain the thought of Sam lowering himself to engage in a relationship beyond polite acquaintances.

"So," Sam clears his throat and shifts on the tack trunk uncomfortably. "You were going to say something to me this morning before Dean interrupted us. What was it?"

Originally, he was going to come clean with Sam with about his feelings. He was going to ask him if he felt the same and where do they go from there. But he can't, not now. Not with the nervous tingling in his fingers and toes, his weariness at being social with practical strangers. He can't condemn Sam to any more time than necessary being tied to him. He just wasn't sure how to back out of this mess with Sam.

"Gad?"

"Yes, I was just going to say that," he took a deep breath and squeezed his knees. "I overstepped my bounds last night. I should not have said what I did."

"You didn't-"

"I did. You're my lawyer, that is all."

"Gad-"

"No, Sam. My apologies for the misunderstanding."

"Shove your apology. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Sam has that look in his eye, his I'm-not-letting-this-go lawyer look. "Oh we're going to talk about this."

Gad stands up and starts to walk out of the barn before he realizes that Sam just made his way all the way down to the barn on a fractured leg. He's torn between leaving to save face but he can't in good judgement leave Sam behind without any help to return to the main house.

Sam laughs shortly. "Yeah, you're not leaving me down here alone. Sit down and tell me how you can go from 'I missed you more Dean' to 'you're my lawyer and nothing more' in less than 24 hours. Because we both know that's bullshit."

Gad looks around, everywhere except for Sam. He feels trapped again, stuck in another prison. But it's a prison of his own doing, his own foolishness. Once again, Sam has seen through him and his words. He is breathing in glass shards and it's shredding his insides. He can't do this, he can't be normal and live on the outside. Sam should drop his case, let him go back to the only home and family he knows. It would be the most humane thing to do really.

Sam's good hand comes down heavy on Gad's arm and squeezes it hard enough to bruise. "Breath, Gad. You need to breath."

"Let me go." The words are spit out with such force Gad wonders if it breaks his teeth.

"Gad!"

"I can't...I…need...go back." It's the only thing he can manage to say before blackness takes his eyesight and he falls.

* * *

Sam knows better than this. He knows what an emotional shut down looks like and he shouldn't have pushed. There is no way he can move Gad, not with his injuries. He's going to have to wait this out. He goes into the tack room and grabs a clean rag, wetting it with cold water. It takes some thought getting down on the ground next to Gad but Sam manages to fall with some grace and doesn't jar his damaged bones too badly. He presses the cold rag against Gad's pulse points on his neck and waits.

He wishes he can blame this on the painkillers but he can't, not totally. This is all on him. Gad has told him in polite and reserved words what he suffered behind bars. Sam has seen a lot of awful and despicable things in his life and he knows that he probably can't imagine half of what Gad had to face in prison. As quiet and kind as Gad appears, Sam can't forget the horrors that Gad has suffered.

Patience. Counseling. Support. Care. These are the tools that Sam needs to use to piece Gad back together. Then love will seal the gaps and hold the broken pieces together. Sam should have realized that before now. He had witnessed the same thing happen when Cas came into their lives. Shunned by his own family, depressed and guilt ridden over the loss of his brother, Cas was as broken as they come. Sam remembers some of the frustration Dean had over trying to reach through all the negative input Cas had absorbed. But it worked and now there is nothing hiding behind Cas' smile.

Gad groans and starts to stir. Sam scoots back to give him some room, not sure what kind of disposition is going to greet him. He shouldn't have been concerned though. Gad merely opens his green eyes, blinks a few times and sits up slowly. He glances over at Sam briefly before settling his gaze on the floor.

"What happened?"

"You passed out," Sam re-adjusts his braced leg. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

Gad doesn't say anything but his fingers are twitching nervously.

"I just wanted you to know that," Sam loses his words and laughs uncomfortably. God, this is harder than he expected. He had never initiated a relationship before. Brady, Jess, Ruby...they all took the first step. Gad won't do it, can't do it so Sam has to do this himself. "I just wanted you to know that the feeling is mutual."

That gets him a side eyed look from Gad but nothing more.

"Look, I had a client once who I defended for some white collar crime. I got a death threat and handed his case over to another lawyer who was better equipped for that kind of nastiness. I don't take beatings for my clients. I wouldn't dream of bringing anything like that down on my brother's head either. So I had to do some soul searching while I was in the hospital in Oklahoma. I realized, you're more than a client to me because I will take fifty more beatings if it means clearing your name and getting you justice. I care about you, in a much greater capacity than I should on a professional level. And I know you're feeling the same way. It's okay."

Gad shakes his head. "No, it's not okay."

Sam reaches and catches one of Gad's hands in his own to still the nervous ticking. "Why is it not okay?"

Gad's eyes are locked on their joined hands and is having trouble speaking his words. Finally he closes his eyes and plows ahead. "I'm not able to...I can't...I've been in prison since I was seventeen. I don't know anything else. Society is complicated and I don't know if I can properly function within it."

"Society is horribly complicated. You're right about that. And it will take time, lots of it, for you to find your way. You may never feel completely at ease in social situations and that's okay too. I will help you in any way I can. Dean and Cas will too. You're not alone. You don't have to do this alone."

Gad nods slowly. "The counselor-"

"Pamela, we can call her first thing tomorrow. She's a little rough around the edges but she's helped a lot of convicts get acclimated to the outside again. And she makes house calls."

The briefest flicker of a smile crosses Gad's face. "I...will try."

"Good. That's really good."

Gad lets go of Sam's hand and hefts himself to his feet. He's slightly unsteady, washed out but the panic is gone. There is still fear and uncertainty in his eyes but it's tempered with determination now. He slips his arm under Sam's good one and grabs Sam's belt with the other hand, lifting him up on his good leg. Sam grabs the crutch and props himself up with it, a little light headed from being upright so quickly.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I care about you too."

Sam isn't sure how this will be received but he reaches out anyway and pulls Gad towards him in an awkward one armed hug. He's relieved when Gad gingerly returns the embrace. Sam turns his head and presses his lips to Gad's cheek before resting his head against Gad's. "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out together."

"Okay."

Sam lets him go, surprising himself at how reluctant he is to lose that physical connection. "So, I was going to grab something to eat and then watch something on Netflix if you want to join me."

Gad nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. It's a start and Sam will take it. The walk back up to the house tires Sam out more than the emotional conversation he's just had. He forgoes food and takes a shower instead, making Gad promise to meet him in his room in an hour. He's almost certain that Gad isn't going to follow through and he promises himself that he's not going to push. Gad went above and beyond his comfort zone tonight and if he needed space, Sam would grant him that.

But after Sam manages to dry himself off, changes into his pajamas and puts the brace back on his leg, catching up on Game of Thrones doesn't even appeal to him. When he reaches his room, he's shocked to find Gad is there already. He's sitting in the desk chair, head bowed forward and sound asleep. He showed up and that means more to Sam than anything.

"Hey, Gad," Sam touches the man's shoulder lightly and he wakes immediately.

"Sorry."

"No worries. I'm actually ready to sleep myself."

Gad stands up. "I'll leave you to it then."

"You can stay if you want." Sam almost bites through his tongue. He promised himself he wouldn't push. But he looks at Gad and sees that he's actually considering it. "Nothing but sleeping, promise. I only offer in case you don't want to be alone."

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam expects Gad to turn and walk out the door but he surprises Sam when he walks back over to the empty side of the bed. Sam stacks his pillows and props himself up so he can sleep as comfortably as possible as Gad settles as far away as possible from him. "Don't fall off the bed. No need for both of us be injured."

Gad moves slightly but not anywhere near to Sam. They lay quietly in the dark for a few minutes before Gad breaks the silence.

"Why now?"

Sam stares at the ceiling and thinks about the question. Life is too short? Nick could very well be coming after them to finish what he started with Sam so why waste time? But in the end, Sam goes with the simplest explanation. "I didn't want to be alone."

"Hm." Gad's fingers find Sam's and hesitantly curl around his hand. "Me either."

Sam falls asleep not long after that but it doesn't last for long. Someone rings the doorbell at one in the morning. Gad is out of bed before Sam can even register what is happening. But he hears Dean's heavy footfalls coming down the staircase and calls out to Gad.

"There's a shotgun under the bed. It's loaded."

Gad doesn't even blink as he retrieves the gun. He holds it loosely but at the ready as he leaves the room to back up Dean if needed. Sam swings his legs out of bed and grabs his crutch. He gets to his feet but stays by the door, straining to hear anything. Dean opens the door, there's some quiet chatter and then Gad's footfalls echo down the hallway. Sam steps back from the door to let Gad back into the room.

"Who is it? What's going on?"

Gad is wide eyed and pale, even in the dark. He puts the gun back under the bed before turning back to Sam.

"Gad, who is it?"

He finally snaps out of his momentary muteness. "It's Chuck Shirley."

"What about Chuck Shirley?"

"He's here."

"What for?" A floorboard creaks and Sam turns to see the man himself. "What are you doing here, Chuck?"

"I'm here to do what I should have done twenty years ago." Chuck rubs a hand over his beard. "I'm here to help."


End file.
